My Teenage Stride: Ears Like Golden Bats

It's been awhile since I've praised Baltimore's Enoch Pratt Free Library for their music collection. I haven't been to any other libraries where I can walk in and find dozens of CDs by bands I've never heard (or even heard of), and nearly all of them will at least be decent.

It's not often that I write a really bad review of a CD I get from the EPFL. In fact, very few of the CDs I review end up at the bottom of my rating scale (earning a 1, 1.5, or 2). I wish the music on MySpace or iTunes had that kind of track record!

Music:
My Teenage Stride is Smiths-influenced indie pop, spiced with a splash of '80s one-hit wonders and simmered in a broth of The Beatles. All the songs are short, and like the early Cure records, My Teenage Stride focuses on hooks and melodies without getting bogged down in unnecessary details. Nothing here is in the least bit original, but it's all written, recorded, and performed extremely well.

Packaging:
The multi-colored text on the cover gives a pretty good clue of what the music sounds like, but otherwise, the package is bland. There's nothing except for credits, some nature photos, and a quote that is presumably from one of the songs.

Listen if you like: upbeat indie pop or downcast 80's Manchester new wave. There's enough mope to catch the heart of twee fans, enough joy to please the bespectacled indie rock boys of Brooklyn, and maybe even enough Beatles for fans of Matthew Sweet and the Posies.

If it were food, it'd be: A Hershey's Special Dark bar.

Daniel Lanois: Acadie

It must be bizarre to have countless platinum records -- critically acclaimed platinum records, nonetheless -- under your belt, yet be unknown to all but the most die-hard rock fans.

As a producer, Daniel Lanois is at least partially responsible for seminal albums by U2, Peter Gabriel, Bob Dylan, The Neville Brothers, and Dashboard Confessional. (Not often that you see Dashboard Confessional and Dylan on a list together.) But how about on his own? Can he make the same kind of magic when he's in control of every aspect of the music?

Music:
The answer is, "not really." There are a few songs on Acadie that flirt with greatness, there are a few that are almost embarrassingly bad, and there are a bunch that sound like they came from a guy who spent a whole lot of time listening to The Joshua Tree.

Now, in Lanois' defense, he did spend a whole lot of time listening to The Joshua Tree. As the album's co-producer, that was his job. It's hard to say whether his influence had a dramatic impact on U2, or vice versa, but a lot of the songs on Acadie sound like Joshua Tree throwaways.

As for the good songs, I've had the bassline from "The Maker" stuck in my head since 1991 (the year I last heard Acadie), and for nearly 20 years I've been trying to figure out from what song it comes. If that doesn't qualify as a hook, I don't know what does. "White Mustang II" is a simple instrumental track that is solemn yet spooky. "Amazing Grace" is easily the strongest song on the record, and Aaron Neville's vocals make it one of the most interesting and impassioned versions of the gospel standard that I've ever heard.

Packaging:
This is one of the worst packages I've ever seen. The cover sports a cheesy '80s photo of Lanois standing in the snow with hair that looks like a cockatoo with a bad dye job. And the rest of the package is... well, it's nothing. No credits. No lyrics. No photos. No stories. Nothing. Just a note that you can read the credits at Lanois' web site, which is a lie as far as I can tell, because I couldn't find a single thing about who played on this record. If I'd spent $10 or $15 on this CD, I'd be pissed. There is no compelling reason to buy this. If you're interested in the music, just download the songs. (And that's coming from a guy who hates downloading songs.)

Listen if you like: U2 from the mid '80s, Peter Gabriel from the late '80s, Lanois' production style. There's a strong New Orleans sound on several of the songs, so if you like The Neville Brothers, you might enjoy this.

If it were food, it'd be: Gumbo and Guinness

Jewel: Goodbye Alice in Wonderland

Not long ago, I reviewed Everything I Touch Runs Wild by Lori Carson. As I listened to Carson, I wondered why she and her peers are celebrated by rock snobs while artists like Jewel are mercilessly mocked.

Well, the day I took that Lori Carson CD back to the EPFL, what did I see on the shelf? That's right, Jewel's Goodbye Alice in Wonderland. Serendipity, right? No matter the pain, I vowed to work my way through this Jewel album and see if I could figure out why people like me love Carson but hate Jewel.

(To be entirely honest, I've always had a soft spot for Jewel. Everytime I hear one of her songs, it inspires an indescribable sense of nostalgia for a past I've never known. Since I haven't ever heard one of her records from start to finish, this gives me an excuse to check out some Jewel without totally losing my right to call myself a man. Just do me a favor and don't tell anyone, okay?)

Music:
Musically, this is a pretty cold album. It sounds as if producer Rob Cavallo mapped every chord change and orchestral swell out in an Excel spreadsheet, ran a formula to calculate the maximum amount of emotion, then hired a bunch of studio mercenaries to play the solution. It's disappointing, because Cavallo has made some pretty incredible records in his time.

Jewel's words and delivery save Goodbye Alice in Wonderland, though. She makes it believable, and that's a mighty good thing since she calls this her musical autobiography. The words are sincere and sentimental, sometimes raw and confessional, and are clever enough that they even made me laugh out loud once or twice.

You know what'd be nice? If she performed all of these songs by herself, just her voice and her acoustic guitar, without a session musician or an Excel spreadsheet anywhere in sight. If she did that, she might give Lori Carson a run for all that critical acclaim.

Packaging:
It's a good package filled with photos and drawings, but the layout of the lyrics is awful. I would expect an artist who released a book of poetry to know better than to cram each song's lyrics into a big block of difficult-to-read text. Most of the photos of Jewel are very flattering, but there's one where she looks like a drunk who got into Tammy Faye's makeup bag. Not a good look for you, honey.

Listen if you like: Sarah McLachlan, James Blunt, Goo Goo Dolls, Alanis Morissette but you've grown up a bit since you bought Jagged Little Pill. The production is probably way too slick to appeal to fans of singers like Lori Carson.

If it were food, it'd be: jalapeno poppers from a chain restaurant. The core ingredients are spicy, but they're cooked up in a way that won't offend consumers with very bland tastes.

Goldfrapp: Seventh Tree

I have a confession. A nice woman at Mute records sent me Seventh Tree earlier this year, in hopes that I'd review it at one of the other sites where I write. I never reviewed the CD, though. In fact, I never even listened to it. It sat on my desk for months, and I never even took the shrink wrap off of it. That's how much I didn't want to listen to this album.

I don't know why I hate Goldfrapp. Alison Goldfrapp has a perfectly reasonable voice, and Will Gregory, her musical partner in crime, seems to be a talented fellow, even if his hipster hair and hipster beard and hipster glasses make me want to smite him with irony. (Is that wrong of me? If you take the honest-to-goodness sociopaths out of the mix, is there any group of humanity more annoying than hipster musicians? And is there any better way to abuse them than to use their favorite literary device against them?)

Anyway, I digress. I don't like Goldfrapp. The very thought of listening to Goldfrapp makes me feel icky. I dislike Goldfrapp to the degree that if someone tells me he or she likes them, I immediately think a little bit less of that person, the same way I would think less of a person who told me they hate black people or they kick puppies. Because bigotry and cruelty really have so much in common with bad musical taste, you know?

So, when I looked at the New Releases shelf at the EPFL and I saw Alison Goldfrapp in her stupid pirate hat on the cover of Seventh Tree, I knew it was finally time to listen. Here goes. Wish me luck.

Music:
The only way I can honestly review this album is to break it into two sections: all of the songs except "A&E," and "A&E."

The music on Seventh Tree isn't as awful as I expected. In fact, it isn't awful at all. It is dull, though. Listening to Seventh Tree is about as exciting as finding that long lost Carpenters album, Karen and Richard Sit Around and Sing about How Much They Love Ironic Electro-Hipsters. The music is pretty and well-produced, but it's just not that interesting. The words are clever and biting, but they just aren't that good. It's easy to listen to the songs on Seventh Tree, but not a single musical moment from the album sticks with me after the disc ends.

Not a single musical moment except for "A&E," which is absolutely fantastic. The music curves and climbs in a wonderful way, and it supports lyrics about a woman waking up in the emergency room after a lovelorn suicide attempt. (A&E, or Accident & Emergency, is apparently what the Brits call their emergency rooms.) The song is a beautiful juxtaposition of joy and pain. The lyrics are simple but they're remarkably effective: for example, the narrator's "backless dress" -- whether taken on its own or interpreted as a metaphor for a hospital gown -- manages to convey a great deal of imagery with a paltry three syllables.

Packaging:
Owls, pirates, boobies, owls with boobies... the whole thing screams "pretentious." Or maybe "stupid." Or maybe even "crazy." Whatever it is, the photos are well done and the owl costume is pretty impressive, even if it is pretentious/stupid/crazy. It's a shame that the lyrics are printed in muted gold ink on cream paper, but they're not all that good anyway. My petty complaints of legibility aside, the package does have a kind of other-worldly sense to it, like a poster for the Renaissance Faire or something.

Listen if you like: lite dance/pop like Air, and maybe twee nonsense like Belle & Sebastian. Bjork or Kate Bush fans might give it a chance, but it's remarkably tame when compared to either of those two. All those deaf people incredibly insightful people who loved that annoying brilliant mid-'90s tribute to The Carpenters will probably like Goldfrapp. Owl fetishists and/or furries could seriously dig the artwork.

If it were food, it'd be: sugar free cake with extra saccharine and one deliciously out-of-place piece of fresh fruit right in the middle.

My Chemical Romance: The Black Parade Is Dead!

Some albums deserve to played live. You hear them, and you fantasize how great it would be to hear them in concert, start to finish, all the way through. Every bit of brilliance would shine as brightly as it does on the studio record, but it would be combined with the spontaneity and excitement than only a live show can provide. Unfortunately, as live performances of albums like The Wall and Operation: Mindcrime have shown, some live albums are much better left to fantasy.

(Yeah, the studio version of Operation: Mindcrime might've been better left to fantasy as well, but I'm trying to make a point here.)

Music:
Frankly, The Black Parade Is Dead! is a lot better than a live rendition of a concept album has any right to be. The band sounds great, the recording quality is excellent, and there's a ton of energy from both the stage and the audience. I just don't really hear any reason why it needed to be released. Does it add anything to The Black Parade? Not really, other than some chanting from the crowd and an occasional breathless moment from vocalist Gerard Way. And that gets to the core problem with live versions of concept records: the originals are so carefully crafted and created and recorded that there is no room for spontaneity, which just might be the greatest part of live shows.

Don't get me wrong: this is a very good live record. I just don't hear anything that makes this as good as The Black Parade, or even a necessary companion for anyone but the most devoted fans.

Packaging:
The package is perfectly fine for a live record, and it probably deserves higher than a 2.5. There are some good photos, and even a few great ones. The cover is a bit cheesy, but once you look at it for a while, it's actually kind of cool.

The problem is, the package for the original album is one of the best I've ever seen. The regular version of the CD is stellar, yet it's nothing compared to the limited edition vinyl release. The packaging for the limited edition record is, hands down, the best I've seen in nearly 30 years of loving rock music.

This just doesn't compare to that. My 2.5 library card ranking may be unfair, but go pick up the vinyl of The Black Parade and you'll understand where I'm coming from.

Listen if you like: My Chemical Romance

If it were food, it'd be: A frozen gourmet dinner. It's good, but it just doesn't compare to the real thing.

Jezzreel: Great Jah Jah

I haven't written anything lately about how awesome the Enoch Pratt Free Library is. How many libraries in the country have any of the Wackies reissues? How many people have even heard of Jezzreel, let alone have the ability to drive down to their local library and check it out? I don't know the answer to either of those questions, but my guess for both would be "approximately zero, at least outside of Baltimore."

Whether or not you like this particular release, it's proof of the fact that whoever is responsible for buying music for Pratt is doing a great job! He/She/They are the only reason that, more than a year into this blog, I'm still excited every week to visit the EPFL and see what I'll find. (For you Baltimore folks, take a look at the Pratt Library Media blog to see what's new.)

Music:
Great Jah Jah originally came out in 1980 on Lloyd Barnes' Wackies label. It's good stuff if you're a fan of reggae, but there's nothing crucial that a casual listener needs to hear. The vocals are solid but fairly typical for late '70s reggae, although the harmonies between Clive Davis and Christopher Harvey (and, I assume, background vocalist Noel Delahaye) are strong and occasionally haunting. The bass and drums are very good, but some of the bass notes were distorted during the recording, which can be a bit distracting given the instrument's prominence in the mixes. The songs have plenty of room to stretch out and breathe, but I honestly started getting bored by the end of the disc.

Packaging: n/a (Altered by EPFL)
Just read what I wrote about the package for Horace Andy's Dance Hall Style (another Wackies release) because the same exact thing is true here.

Listen if you like: Honestly, I don't know enough about reggae or dub to make really valid comparisons, but I'd think anyone who likes Gregory Isaacs, Trinity, or Sugar Minott should check this out.

If it were food, it'd be: A bottle of Red Stripe. It's great if you're into Red Stripe, otherwise it's just beer. (Hooray, beer!)

Alejandro Escovedo: The Boxing Mirror

Rock snobs have always had a soft spot for musicians who bring a multi-cultural influence into rock. From The Beatles' foray into Indian music to the African influences of recent critic-darlings Vampire Weekend, a rock musician simply needs to whisper the name of another country in order to gain instant credibility.

With that in mind, it's no wonder that first-generation Mexican-American Alejandro Escovedo is held in such high esteem by rock snobs of every ilk. Now, I'm not saying Escovedo doesn't deserve a good amount of the recognition that he's received, but he's not really doing anything new or unique. Sure, there's a taste of Tejano music and Mexican culture, but at its core, The Boxing Mirror is a pretty generic imitation of guys like Lou Reed and Bruce Springsteen.

Music:
The first comparison that came to mind as I listened to album-opener "Arizona" was Lou Reed. I hate Lou Reed. Then I opened the liner notes and saw that John Cale produced the album. I like John Cale. With Cale's production and Reed's influence, the best and worst of the Velvet Underground are represented on The Boxing Mirror. When Cale's warm experimentation is combined with Escovedo's voice and lyrics, the album reaches quiet heights that are almost worth remembering. When Escovedo starts to rock out, the songs pretty much all sound like third rate Lou Reed ripoffs.

Now that I've aired my complaints, though, there are a few musical moments that I will carry with me for a long time. The accordion in the Tejano-flavored "The Ladder" breathes magic into the song, and when Escovedo sings "I'm so lonesome I could cry" in "Sacramento & Polk," it's like I'm hearing those six words for the very first time.

Packaging:
The paintings on the front cover and the tray card are strong images, but they don't translate well to the confines of a CD jacket. The text is easy to read, and the lyrics are included. It's a simple and effective package, but it's ultimately forgettable.

Listen if you like: If you fantasize about Lou Reed fronting Los Lobos, you'll love this.

If it were food, it'd be: Mexican food in Asbury Park, NJ.

Various Artists: Raw Funk

I have never heard of Hotpie & Candy Records. I don't know where they were based, when they were releasing music, or who was in their house band. All I know is that Raw Funk is a collection of some mighty fine funk songs that came from this record label.

Music:
This is straightforward instrumental funk. It's not fancy or particularly original, but it's solid from start to finish. There's nothing here that a casual funk fan needs to hear, but there's also no reason why someone who is craving some good funk shouldn't check this out.

Packaging:
Disappointing. Somebody knew enough about this record label, the musicians who recorded there, and the songs they recorded to put out a compilation CD. So why not write at least one paragraph that covers the basic who-what-where-etc.? There are blurbs about each song, but the context is lost unless you have some sense of the history behind Hotpie & Candy. This is one of the worst packages I've ever seen, largely because it had so much potential.

Listen if you like: Booker T. and the MGs, Stax, James Brown.

If it were food, it'd be: Forgive me for being obvious, but I think hot pie and candy is a pretty fitting comparison.

Josephine Baker: Breezin' Along

This is a collection of English-language Josephine Baker recordings from the 1920s. As a historical artifact, it's interesting. As an introduction to Baker's voice, it's not bad. As pleasurable listening, it leaves me completely cold.

Music:
I'm sure this is great for people who love 1920s dance bands, but I'm not a fan of pop recordings from the '20s. I find most of the big band arrangements from this period to be just as contrived and soulless as any given Wednesday's American Idol. Baker saves these songs, though. Her voice is an oddly captivating study in contradictions: it's simultaneously girlish and womanly, innocent and sultry, playful and serious. If you can get past the recording quality and the run-of-the-mill arrangements, her voice is absolutely worth hearing. In fact, this album makes me realize that I absolutely need to track down some of her later French recordings.

Packaging: n/a (altered by EPFL)
The cover photo captures the innocence and seductiveness that lives in Baker's voice. Unfortunately, the rest of the package is missing. Why does the EPFL do this? They're a library, right? And aren't libraries supposed to respect the integrity of their catalog? It'd almost be like ripping a chapter out of the middle of a book because it takes up too much space on the shelf. (For what it's worth, I've been patronizing the EPFL since 2002, and this is my only complaint. Believe me, I like to complain, so I guess they're not doing all that bad. But still... STOP DESTROYING THE COVERS OF THE CDs ALREADY!!!)

Listen if you like: Vaudeville, Paul Whiteman, Lena Horne, Marlene Dietrich

If it were food, it'd be: Ginger snaps made by your grandmother. They're kind of quaint and bland on the surface, but if you pay close attention, you might notice the hint of a flavor that could only come from life experiences you never imagined your grandmother having.

Spank Rock: YoYoYoYoYo

I want to hate this album. It's stupid, it's misogynistic, it's ignorant, and it's arrogant. Spank Rock's (Naeem Juwan) lyrics are the typical, sex-obsessed drivel that always seems to pop up in pop music, regardless of whether it's from Little Richard or Lords of Acid.

I want to hate this album, and for the most part I do. But the music is really well-produced and really good. Producer XXXchange (Alex Epton) obviously appreciates many facets of dance music and hip-hop from the past few decades. There's more than a nod to Miami bass, but there's an equally large respect for innovators like DJ Shadow and Herbert.

There's absolutely no reason why Spank Rock couldn't become immensely popular. It's crap, but it's better than most of the crap that spills from the speakers of cheesy dance clubs and tricked-out Hondas throughout the country. The beats are good, the production is excellent, and the lyrics are as catchy as they are imbecilic. As stupid as the words are, however, they can't hide the fact that Juwan and/or Epton are relatively intelligent.

And hell, it's local. I suppose we have to stand by it to some degree. I mean, we take pride in the fact that our murder rate is higher than almost everyone else's (curse you, Detroit) and our politicians are among the most inept douchebags outside of DC. If we're willing to wear those badges of honor, surely we can dab some of Spank Rock's stupidly sexy perfume behind our ears before we go out dancing.

Music:
It's excellent for what it is, but what it is is a far cry from excellent. The music falls somewhere between 2 Live Crew, Isaac Hayes, DJ Shadow, Massive Attack, and The DFA. The lyrics fall somewhere between 2 Live Crew, Isaac Hayes, Missy Elliott, Ice-T, and the disease-ridden crotch of one of the girls working over on S. Carey.

Packaging:
It's gold and black, with big bold typefaces, scantily-clad women, and gold chains. Despite some strong design elements, it's a bit clichéd on its own, but it is absolutely perfect in context of the music. (Sleevage has an excellent write-up on the artwork.)

Listen if you like: Any of the groups mentioned above. If you're one of those idiotic kids who loves to shock his parents / neighbors / friends with raunchy music, this is right up your alley. If you have a deep appreciation for good dance music and a high tolerance for stupid lyrics, give it a shot.

If it were food, it'd be: An overpriced bottle of Cristal in the champagne room of Sherrie's. Oh, wait... do they have a champagne room at Sherrie's?

Various Artists: The Rough Guide to Calypso and Soca

After reviewing Lord Invader's Calypso in New York, I was excited to dig deeper into the genre of Calypso. Not the party music that is played in beach-themed bars and Tim Burton movies, but the music that Lord Pretender calls "true true calypso."

Needless to say, I was a bit disappointed when Lord Pretender's "Never Ever Worry" sets the tone for an album that parties a lot and worries very little.

One reason Lord Invader was so exciting to me was his acknowledgment that sometimes we need to worry about things. As an American whose exposure to calypso has been limited to the feelgood escapism of island fantasies, I want to hear about the 11 months of the year when Trinidad & Tobago aren't celebrating Carnival. Do people work? Do they get into fights? Do their parents die? Do they run out of money and beat up their wives and abandon their children? Lord Invader sang about those things, but only a few of the artists on The Rough Guide to Calypso and Soca follow his lead.

But maybe that's the point of Pretender's statement, "wherever you turn, somebody suffering more than you." Maybe calypso, and the more modern offshoots of soca and rapso, are the way that Trinidadians deal with the harsh realities of their day-to-day lives. Maybe they cope with their worries by throwing a party. It's not such a bad thing to do.

Music:
This is fun music that will liven up a party. The songs blend into an optimistic sheen of background noise, but there are a few standouts: "Cyar Take Dat" by Brother Resistance (a key innovator in the style of music called rapso) is a dark and socially conscious track that seems heavily influenced by both roots reggae and dancehall; "Jouvert" by Hunter & Laventille Rhythm Section reminds me of Fela Kuti; and "Mud Madness" by 3 Canal is filled with the kind of excitement that can inspire people to go crazy in the streets.

Given that calypso seems to be a male-dominated genre, it's a shame that the three female-fronted tracks are the most generic and flawed songs on this collection. Sharlene Boodram's "Joe Le Taxi" is the kind of third-rate dance-pop that mediocre record labels try to foist upon unsuspecting listeners every summer. Square One's "Controller/Feelin De Vibes" is clearly influenced by house and dancehall, but it fails to capture the very things that make those genres so special. Singing Sandra's contribution is by far the best of the three, but "Voices from the Ghetto" is as melodramatic and overwrought as Kanye West's "Diamonds from Sierra Leone." Of course, being melodramatic and overwrought doesn't necessarily lessen the social statement, and sometimes the only way to get listeners to pay attention is to beat them over the head with your message.

Packaging:
One of the best things about compilations that come from labels like Smithsonian Folkways or Rounder is the care and knowledge that go into the liner notes. If the booklet in Calypso & Soca is typical of Rough Guide releases, I'm not going out of my way to get any more of them. There's a half-page overview of the musical genre, followed by a paragraph on each artist (all of which sound like they were written by a publicist rather than a music lover), followed by the name of the album from which each song came, followed by five pages of advertisements. I read the entire booklet, and I learned nothing of value.

Listen if you like: World music, island-themed parties, island-themed parties where people play world music.

If it were food, it'd be: rum and Coke at a Friday night party.

Sunset Rubdown: Shut Up I Am Dreaming

Imagine spinning the crank on a jack-in-the-box. You listen to the creepy music and you wait... and wait... and wait for the release, but it just doesn't come. And you sit there, anxiously spinning and waiting and spinning and waiting. That's kind of what Shut Up I Am Dreaming is like.

Music:
There's a lot of tension on this album, but it's constrained within some decent pop songs that are almost memorable. The music is loose and sloppy and relatively simple, but it stays together well. Neither the music nor lyrics are particularly notable, and at times it sounds like the band is trying way too hard to be clever and quirky. The album is cohesive, though, and it comes together in a way that is disturbingly satisfying. (For you Baltimoreans out there, track 9 on the EPFL copy is dead, so be prepared if you decide to check this out.)

Packaging: n/a (Altered by EPFL)
EPFL cut up the original package to fit into a jewel box, so there's nothing here except the front and back covers. There are some interesting themes (bodies being thrown into bonfires, stabbings, and lone figures praying), but without the context of the rest of the package, the artwork is dull. (Of course, the artwork may also be dull even in context of the rest of the package.)

Listen if you like: Bowie and/or Tin Machine, TV on the Radio, Kurt Weill, Wolf Parade (Sunset Rubdown's main guy, Spencer Krug, is from Wolf Parade).

If it were food, it'd be: A tasty but uninspiring meal at a hip restaurant where you're having a first date with someone who is quirky and smart and unsettled and noisy and definitely off their meds.

Iron & Wine: Our Endless Numbered Days

There are moments of greatness on Our Endless Numbered Days. The opening track, "On Your Wings," begins with a slide guitar that coils around whispery words. The feel is tense, and the minimal percussion only adds to the anxiety. The tension finally breaks near the end, and proves that you don't have to play loud to be loud.

Yes, there are moments of greatness on Our Endless Numbered Days, but they are overshadowed by plainness. Quietly disturbing pieces like "On Your Wings" alternate with singer/songwriter fare like "Naked As We Came," a happy-sad little ditty that is nice but absolutely unoriginal. The album's gentle touches are often lost in a pool of lite folk-rock drivel, and after a while, this collection begins to feel more like a bunch of endless numbered songs.

Music:
Our Endless Numbered Days is like Simon & Garfunkel with too much Garfunkel. At its best, this is a record with subtly beautiful songs that can fill the quiet moments of your life. At its worst, it is reminiscent of over-emotional wimpsters like James Taylor or David Gray. Of course, some people will like Iron & Wine for just that reason, and if you're one of those people, you should rush right over to the EPFL and check this out. God willing, I will never get stuck on a long car ride with you.

Packaging:
The design is very good, and the booklet is a perfect companion piece to the music. The cover art is simple, and reflects the songs well. The lyrics have lots of space, and although the size of the typeface is a bit too small, it is easy to read. The handwriting in the booklet is actual script, not some crappy font that attempts (and fails) to imitate the warmth of the written word. The paper stock has a nice texture, and the grain in the paper adds to the overall effect of the package.

Listen if you like: Crosby Stills and Nash, David Gray, Sufjan Stevens, Garfunkel and Simon

If it were food, it'd be: A warm loaf of freshly baked white bread.

Woody Guthrie: Woody Guthrie Sings Folk Songs with Leadbelly, Cisco Houston, Sonny Terry, Bess Hawes

In honor of Lead Belly's birthday, I'm devoting this week's posts on Pratt Songs to his music. Today's review is a vinyl copy of Woody Guthrie Sings Folk Songs.... (You can get the same recording on CD from Smithsonian Folkways.) Last Tuesday's post was a review of the only Lead Belly recording in the EPFL catalog, a vinyl copy of Keep Your Hands Off Her. Hopefully, the good people over at Pratt will order some Lead Belly CDs soon!

Lead Belly only plays on one song on this album, but it's a great example of why he was so awesome. His rough voice on "We Shall Be Free" stands out in stark contrast against the other singers. All of the musicians are warm, but there's a rich earthiness in Lead Belly's voice that the other musicians don't possess. That quality makes this song shine in a way that nothing else on the album does.

That's not to say the other 13 tracks are bad. I've been in awe of Sonny Terry's harmonica playing since I first heard On My Journey: Paul Robeson's Independent Recordings. Cisco Houston's fine playing is all over the album, but his voice is mostly relegated to a supporting role. Bess Hawes has a lovely backup voice, and she is yet another of the many Smithsonian Folkways artists whose music I need to explore. Unfortunately, most of Woody Guthrie's performances here don't really grab me. The notable exceptions are "Hard Travelin'," "The Rising Sun Blues," and "Nine Hundred Miles," the latter of which has some great fiddle playing by Guthrie.

Music:
Take my rating lightly on this one, because my goal was to hear Lead Belly, not Woody Guthrie. With that said, I'm not entirely sure why this album is considered to be such a classic. Apparently, Guthrie and his friends recorded these songs in Moses Asch's studio in New York during the '40s, but Asch didn't release them on his Folkways label until 1962. That doesn't surprise me, because these sound like the kinds of songs that would sit on the shelf at the record label for a decade or two before getting released. The album is worth hearing, but it's not as inspired as some of Guthrie's other recordings.

And frankly, I wish there were more collaborations between Guthrie and Lead Belly. Their voices are completely different, yet they complement each other beautifully. There's a playful energy on "We Shall Be Free" that isn't on any of the other songs. I would've been really irritated if I'd bought this album based on the title, and then discovered that a more accurate name would've been Woody Guthrie sings Folk Song with Leadbelly.

Packaging:
Like many covers, the EPFL has gutted and repackaged this one. I normally kind of resent their efforts, but the fact that this album has remained in circulation for over 30 years proves they're doing something right. There's something wonderful about seeing the scrawls and stamps on the sleeve: "Spots, Side 1, Feb 20 1974, Officially Noted. Scratches, Both Sides, Officially Noted, Feb 24 1975." The original pocket for a check-out card is still stuck onto the sleeve, and some lazy clerk put a sticker with due dates right on the front cover about 10 years ago.

As for the actual packaging, the cover is a shadowy black & white photo that beautifully captures a certain aspect of Guthrie's music. An insert that came with the original album is taped to the back of the EPFL package, and it contains lyrics, an introduction by Pete Seeger, and sheet music for every song. Sheet music was an important source of entertainment for families before TV and the Internet, and it's easy to overlook the fact that Folkways Records adamantly encouraged their listeners to actively participate with the music instead of passively listening to it.

Listen if you like: Any of the artists on the album, classic folk music, Billy Bragg and Wilco's Mermaid Avenue albums.

If it were food, it'd be: A stew, the kind that contains lots of random stuff that was leftover in the fridge. Every once in a while you get one bite with the perfect mix of ingredients, but for the most part, it has a bit too much of this and not quite enough of that.

The Killers: Sam's Town

The Killers aimed for Bruce Springsteen and Queen on Sam's Town, but their arrows landed just this side of Meat Loaf.

There's a fine line between passion and melodrama. Springsteen owned his brand of working-class desperation before it became a rock stereotype, and Queen always sounded like a rock band whether they were playing arena anthems or operatic ballads. But it wasn't cheesy metaphors or layered harmonies that made The Boss and Queen so great; they were great in spite of those things. Like Meat Loaf, The Killers don't understand that.

Music:
When The Killers try to be Springsteen, their lyrical shallowness becomes obvious, and when they try to conjure Queen, their musicianship falls flat. The greatest moments on the album come when The Killers are just ripping into a simple, upbeat pop song. In other words, the greatest moments come when The Killers sound like The Killers.

Packaging:
Let's see. On the cover, we have an anonymous beauty queen whose inner ugliness is just begging to be set free, a run down trailer, and a big horn sheep. I imagine that fading beauty queens and crappy trailers are a dime a dozen in the lower-class squalor that radiates out from the Las Vegas strip (Vegas is The Killers' hometown), but the big horn sheep is the piece de resistance. When I think of Vegas desperation, the first thing that comes to mind is a big horn sheep. Not a meth lab or a pit bull or an old Monte Carlo with rusty, dented fenders, but a sheep. I actually feel kind of bad for Anton Corbijn, who had to take this ridiculous concept to fruition. His photos are gorgeous, but the context is pretty stupid.

Listen if you like: Remember when Duran Duran tried to be all serious and grown up on Notorious? If you liked that, you'll absolutely love this. Otherwise, this is good for fans of Interpol, Kaiser Chiefs, Hot Hot Heat, Metric, and all of the other new wave revivalists. Springsteen and Queen fans are better off checking out Marah and My Chemical Romance, respectively.

If it were food, it'd be: Campbell's condensed clam chowder. It's trying so hard to be serious that it almost loses it's simplistic appeal.

Sly and Robbie: The Dub Revolutionaries: Sly & Robbie Meet The Mad Professor Featuring Dean Fraser

There is only one thing keeping this from being an excellent dub album. It's not Mad Professor's production, which is full and thick and has none of the eardrum-shattering high end that is so often found on even the best dub records. It's not Sly's drumming, because this is some of his finest work in the past 30 years, and the decision to favor drums over drum machines was a wise one. It's not Robbie's bass, which is the epitome of sexy.

No, the only thing that drags down The Dub Revolutionaries is Dean Fraser's awful sax playing.

Now, that's not entirely fair. When Fraser plays as part of the band, like he does on "Finger on the Pulse," his decades of experience in the world of reggae shine like the sun. But as soon as his sax moves into the forefront, his lite-jazz noodling kills almost every bit of soul. (Almost. There is too much soul here for one man to kill it all.) The two songs he wrote, "Dean's Version" and "Dean's Mood," could be titled "David Sanborn's lame Version" and "Kenny G's even lamer Mood, if that's at all possible."

Music:
Why is it that mediocre musicians always want the solos? There's no bass solo on here, and Robbie Shakespeare has more spirit in two fingers than Dean Fraser has in his whole body. As producer, Mad Professor should've recognized the problem, but he didn't. Fortunately, most of the album is devoid of Fraser's wanking. And when the musicians (including Fraser) come together under Mad Professor's watchful ear, they bond like the blood the flows through our bodies.

Packaging:
The design is generic and the text is difficult to read, but the three pages of interviews and history are great. Without that, the package probably would have gotten a 2.

Listen if you like: Lee Scratch Perry, King Tubby, Massive Attack's No Protection

If it were food, it'd be: Fried plantains that are partially covered by the aspartame-laden glory of sugar free cherry Jell-O.

Pedro the Lion: Achilles Heel

So very, very, very sad. And a little bitter, and a little envious, and a little self-righteous. But mostly just sad. Sad, sad, sad, sad, sad. Sad.

Music:
"Arizona" is a charming little story of love and betrayal that is so cute and clever, it kind of makes you want to throw up. "Bands With Managers" is on the other extreme of Pedro the Lion's scale, where boring bitterness reigns supreme. The songs on Achilles Heel move between the two sides, at one moment creative and touching, at the next bland and self-piteous. A few songs even show that David Bazan (he is Pedro the Lion, the lucky guy) has some deep roots in classic rock. "Start Without Me" is lifted straight from Jackson Browne's "Running on Empty," and the harmonies in "Keep Swinging" make me think that Bazan has listened to his fair share of Steely Dan records.

Packaging:
The illustrations on the insert tell a story. I'm not really sure what the story is, but a lot of people are crying and a lion is roaring, and then you turn the insert over and the lion is dead and a man is pointing a shotgun at you! So why were all the people crying? Did the lion eat their friend? Were they scared of the man with the shotgun? Were they teary because the lion was singing sad songs with words like, "Who shall I blame for this sweet and heavy trouble, for every stupid struggle? I don't know?" And why aren't there as many people on the back of the insert? Did they run away? Did the man with the shotgun kill them? Did they go back in the house and put on something a bit more chipper, like Joy Division or Dashboard Confessional?

Listen if you like: The Bends, Death Cab for Cutie, Iron & Wine, Morrissey/Smiths songs like "I Know It's Gonna Happen Someday" and "Please, Please, Please Let Me Get What I Want"

If it were food, it'd be: a bitter pill, and the spoonful of sugar is all ... the ... way ... on ... the ... other ... side ... of ... the ... room ...

Secret Machines: Ten Silver Drops

Almost every song on Ten Silver Drops can be traced to one of the rare '80s bands whose songwriting transcended their hairstyling. "Lightning Blue Eyes" brings back memories of Sparkle in the Rain-era Simple Minds, while "I Want to Know If It's Still Possible" is reminiscent of Tears for Fears' more Beatle-esque moments. Yes, Ten Silver Drops was obviously recorded after the world heard Jane's Addiction and Flaming Lips, but its roots lie in the '80s.

Disappointingly, Secret Machines suffers from the same shortcomings that plagued many '80s bands: the songs are well-crafted but they never shine, and the production masks the album's strengths rather than highlighting them. There are good ideas on Ten Silver Drops, but they should've cooked longer before Secret Machines tried to serve them up to the public.

Music:
The songs are anthemic but quirky, and the musicianship is strong without being flashy. As a whole, though, Ten Silver Drops is forgettable. On the few occasions where the songwriting is compelling, sub-par production and/or performances strip away all the emotion. The album is short, however, so even with the weaknesses, it still makes for an enjoyable listen.

Packaging: (Altered by EPFL?)
The cover, as I've seen it online, is a white-on-green design that is strong and simple. The EPFL version has the same cover art, but it's printed in metallic silver ink over a photo of a tree standing in dense undergrowth. The image is the far-right panel of a five-panel photo of the band standing by a lake in the woods; the back side of the insert is a five-panel photo of the band standing in front of the New York City skyline. It takes courage to devote so much space to two photos, and limit the text to a mere 67 words on the inner tray card. It would've been nice if they'd included the lyrics, but that would have destroyed the aesthetics of the design and the symbolic representation of the band's organic and synthetic alter-egos.

Listen if you like: '80s bands like Simple Minds or The Alarm, and/or indie rock like Flaming Lips or My Morning Jacket.

If it were food, it'd be: a hearty stew that's undercooked, leaving you with a mouthful of tough meat and crunchy potatoes.

Snow Patrol: Eyes Open

Based on the few Snow Patrol songs I've heard, I expected a low-key album layered in muted shades of melancholy. What I got was mainstream rock with rhymes that were predictable and songwriting that was almost -- but not quite -- exciting.

"You're All I Have" (and an unfortunate number of the other songs here) sounds like the Gin Blossoms with a singer from the U.K. "Shut Your Eyes" and "Make This Go On Forever" bring to mind every ill-fated band who was neither talented nor sappy enough to pull off an anthemic, chart-topping power ballad. "You Could Be Happy" should be titled "You Could Be Coldplay."

Not to say everything on Eyes Open is calculated and dull. The single, "Chasing Cars," deserved all the mainstream attention it received. The duet with Martha Wainwright on "Set the Fire to the Third Bar" slowly crescendos into a captivating tension, despite lyrics that leave me wondering what happened to the Second Bar, and an ending that just, well, ends. One of the more boring songs, "Headlights on Dark Roads," opens with what might be the strongest words on the album: "For once I want to be the car crash, not always just the traffic jam."

It seems Snow Patrol is trying to create a musical metaphor for paying attention to our lives as we travel through our personal adventures. We need to open our eyes and see the beauty that surrounds us on our journey. We must continue to move and to grow, without sacrificing the treasures that have already blessed us. It's a great message; I just wish they'd found a more interesting way to say it.

Music:
As a whole, the music is a variation on the same old arena rock formula that bands and record labels have been shoving down our throats for decades. The lyrics are pedestrian, and rely on simplistic and unnecessary moon/June/spoon rhyme schemes. The slow songs are the only places where Snow Patrol shines, but even that brightness is inconsistent.

Packaging:
The cover is pretty good, but the rest of the package is dull. Although it's obvious that the designers are skilled, the digital imagery is one step above the homemade Photoshop art that graced a zillion CD jackets throughout the 90s. The typeface on the back cover was overused by 1994, but then again, so was most of the music here.

Listen if you like: Gin Blossoms, Goo Goo Dolls, Foo Fighters, Train

If it were food, it'd be: canned corn with lots of margarine.

Balkan Beat Box: Balkan Beat Box

BBB attempts to merge traditional music from the Balkans and the Middle East with Western rock, DJ, and electronic music. In spirit, it's not all that different from Talvin Singh's noble attempts to merge bhangra and electronica. And like Singh, BBB doesn't entirely succeed. Their debut sounds like a well-behaved DJ spinning records in a falafel shop.

Maybe my hopes are to blame. I want to hear that DJ run amok in the falafel shop. I want to hear him tear the place up. I want him to laugh like a lunatic while he guts the cheap cassettes in the shop's soundsystem and drenches the whole restaurant with a thick sauce of electronic mayhem. I want the owner to run screaming because some giant maniacal freak who looks like he'd belong on the cover of Massive Attack and Mad Professor's No Protection has pulled out his turntables and is demolishing the joint.

None of that's happening here. Yeah, "9/4 the Ladies" brings in some dub influences, "Shushan" taps into some good energy, and the horns in "Boom Pak" hint at the spirit of Charles Mingus. Tracks 4 through 7 are pretty solid, and they show that BBB can create some musical magic when they set their mind to it. But the first three tracks are boring, and I've struggled to get through the second half of the album everytime I've listened to it.

BBB has potential to be a great band, but Balkan Beat Box leaves me unfulfilled. Maybe they achieve it on their second album, and maybe they're one of those bands that is transcendental in concert. Or maybe, like Talvin Singh, BBB is a great idea that will never be fully realized.

Music:
BBB is trying to do something incredibly difficult. They didn't exactly fail, but Balkan Beat Box isn't a success, either. The musicianship is strong, and they occasionally meld disparate styles into a compelling whole. But the album suffers because, even at its strongest moments, the band doesn't push hard enough against established boundaries. It's worth a listen, though, and it definitely benefits from good speakers that are cranked up loud.

Packaging: (Altered by EPFL.)
The cover reminds me of riding buses in Queens, where well-dressed yuppies and crated chickens competed for precious space in the aisles. The liner notes are mostly unreadable, since the original packaging was cut up by EPFL to fit inside a jewel box.

Listen if you like: Gogol Bordello, Natacha Atlas, Talvin Singh

If it were food, it'd be: a falafel sandwich that tries to cross cultures by using Wonder bread instead of a pita.