Bettye LaVette: I've Got My Own Hell to Raise

(I've been away from the blog for awhile, but I'm hopefully back to the regular Tuesday/Friday updates.)

Bettye LaVette is proof that, in some people's careers, everything can go wrong. Bettye LaVette is also proof that sometimes, after everything's gone wrong for a decade or four, the fates finally smile down upon you.

I'm glad the fates smiled on Bettye LaVette. I'm glad because she worked for a long time and deserved a break, but I'm also glad because her voice is incredible and if she hadn't gotten a break, I never would've heard her sing.

Music:
I've Got My Own Hell to Raise opens with a powerful cover of Sinead O'Connor's a capella "I Do Not Want What I Haven't Got." It's a great song and a great start to a very good album.

The second song is when that truth of the album really begins, though. It starts with a guitar that is a little rough and a little sexy and a little raunchy. Then a second guitar kicks in, and it's the kind of guitar that sounds as if it spent a few years wandering the streets before it decided to walk into the studio and be recorded. The drums creep up, and they are as thick and rich as the soil that holds the roots of a mighty tree. Then the bass starts, and it sounds as deep as the desire to discover joy when you're stuck in the roughest parts of a rough place.

Then LaVette starts singing.

The second song on the album, "Joy," is amazing. It is everything that simple music -- rock or soul or country or blues or hip-hop or punk -- can and should be. It is emotional, it is powerful, it is awesome, and it sets the tone for an album that practically overflows with soul.

(If you're wondering why I only gave the album four library-cards after those glowing comments, it's because there's very little range in the song tempos and dynamics. It's a relatively minor complaint, but it makes the album feel somewhat monotonous.)

Packaging:
The package has almost everything a CD jacket should have. There are a handful of photos that fit the mood of the record. There's a little bit of information about each of the songs (all of which are covers). There aren't lyrics, but it's easy to understand every word that LaVette sings. Best of all, though, is the essay by Rob Bowman, in which he tells LaVette's story. It's a good essay, and it makes me grateful that more and more artists are choosing to add more and more words to their liner notes.

Listen if you like: Stories. LaVette's got a fascinating story, and it comes across both in how she sings and the music she performs. Every song on the record is a cover of a song originally performed by a woman; if you like the stories that Fiona Apple, Dolly Parton, Aimee Mann, or Lucinda Williams tell, wait 'til you hear Bettye LaVette tell them.

If it were food, it'd be: a classic and complex wine that's been hiding out in dark rooms for 40 years, just waiting for its delicious flavor to be discovered.

Lori Carson: Everything I Touch Runs Wild

I'm not always certain what the difference is between the Sarah McLachlan / Jewel and the Heidi Berry / Keren Ann artists of the world. Why do critics disparage the former and heap praise upon the latter? Is there really that much difference between the two styles? Is one bereft of integrity while the other overflows with artistic credibility? Or is it simply a matter of popularity? Would music snobs celebrate the entire catalog of Jewel if she'd never sold more than 50,000 copies? Would they berate Keren Ann if she earned a Grammy?

Lori Carson is the kind of artist who makes me ask these questions. On the surface, she falls squarely in the camp of the critically acclaimed and commercially under appreciated singer/songwriter. But her music is so simple and so open that there's no reason it couldn't appeal to millions of lovelorn women who are resigned to curling up in bed with a cat and a Jane Austen novel. A couple of plays on Grey's Anatomy or The OC, and something tells me that Carson would've earned as much love and mockery as Sarah McLachlan and Jewel do.

Music:
The album is easy to dismiss at first, but each listen proves more rewarding than the last. At various moments, Carson's songs make me think of Heidi Berry, Keren Ann, Tanya Donelly, Nick Drake, Kristin Hersh, and even Shawn Smith. The music is simple, and at times it is so simple as to teeter on the edge of cliché. The lyrics have none of the complex poetry of Donelly or Drake, but their simplicity cannot disguise a very warm and real humanity. The only stinker is her cover of "I Saw the Light," a song that plays to the worst elements of Carson's sound. Otherwise, this is a perfect album for dark highways and lonely bedrooms.

Packaging:
The design has some subtle touches, but overall there's nothing particularly special about it. It's a shame the cover looks like an outtake from a Bjork photo shoot, because it completely misrepresents the music inside. The photos are very good, but they say nothing about the mood of the album. The lyrics are included, but the musician credits are either in a miserably tiny font or I need glasses.

Listen if you like: Heidi Berry fans should definitely check this out. Her voice is occasionally similar to Tanya Donelly, but her music sounds more like Kristin Hersh. If you like Counting Crows songs like "Raining in Baltimore," you'll probably find something here that you like. And yes, Sarah McLachlan and Jewel fans might like Carson's music.

If it were food, it'd be: a cup of cocoa on a cold and lonely day.

(I think it's worth noting that, while I've bought copies of several of the CDs that I've reviewed here, this is the first time I ordered multiple albums by an artist while I was writing a review.)

His Name Is Alive: presents Sweet Earth Flower, a tribute to Marion Brown

I bought HNIA's debut CD, Livonia, back when I was obsessed with everything that came out on 4AD. It was a wafty and lofty affair that was completely forgettable, even to someone who loved all things wafty and lofty. I watched as HNIA released album after album in the nearly two decades since Livonia came out, but despite a ridiculous amount of critical acclaim, I never felt compelled to listen to them again.

As soon as I saw the cover of Sweet Earth Flower at EPFL, though, I knew I wanted to hear it. Although you can't judge a CD by its cover, Sweet Earth Flower screamed out that it was as different from Livonia as an album could possibly be. Thus, after nearly 20 years apart, I am finally reunited with HNIA.

Music:
Before hearing Sweet Earth Flower, I didn't know Marion Brown from Marion Barry. I had a vague idea that he was a jazz musician, but I couldn't have even told you with any certainty whether he was a he or a she.

Since I haven't heard any of Brown's music, I guess this might be an awful and disrespectful tribute to him. I can't imagine how that's possible, though, because this music is awesome. It's tempered and boundless at the same time. It is wild, yet its restraint is what makes it shine.

Comparisons to Fela Kuti -- particularly the modal arrangements and the relentless energy of the rhythm section -- are completely fitting. The opening track reminds me of Ornette Coleman's "Lonely Woman," and "November Cotton Flower" makes me remember how it felt to sit in a dark room and listen to Pink Floyd's "Shine on You Crazy Diamond."

Packaging:
The package is simple. It contains two stenciled images (presumably of Brown), some very basic credits, and a statement that a portion of sales will be donated to a charity that helps children in Nepal. That's it. The stencils are well-done, and could easily be featured in an awesome book of street art. It's a shame they didn't say anything about Brown, but I guess they figured anyone who cared enough to listen to this would either already know the man or know how to use that fancy Google thingie.

Listen if you like: Sun Ra, Ornette Coleman, Fela Kuti, Pink Floyd, John Zorn, Marion Brown

If it were food, it'd be: an earthy stew with potatoes and legumes and a lot of crazy spices

The Postal Service: Give Up

This is going to be a tough review to write. I probably haven't listened to another album more frequently in the past four years than I've listened to Give Up. I know pretty much every word, every note, and every moment of silence. It's one of my favorite albums of the 2000s, so it's going to be difficult to listen to it with objective ears and say something other than, "I love this album, so it must be great!"

Music:
The music is consistently solid. The warm and quirky electronics of Jimmy Tamborello (aka Dntel) are the yin to the yang of Ben Gibbard (aka that dude from Death Cab For Cutie). When the two men gel, the music they make together is wonderfully rich and captivating. When they don't gel -- something that only happens a few times and passes quickly when it does -- the music is rich but boring. "This Place Is a Prison" is desperate and creepy, "Sleeping In" is sweet and poignant, and "Brand New Colony" has some of the most creative expressions of devotion that I've ever heard, whether in song, poem, or prose.

Packaging:
The photos are odd and kind of charming, and the typefaces have the same juxtaposition of traditional and modern that the music does. Most of the lyrics are excellent, and I'm glad they're included. Otherwise, though, there's nothing special here.

Listen if you like: Death Cab for Cutie, electronic indie rock, '80s new wave, charming pop songs with excellent lyrics

If it were food, it'd be: a picnic lunch with your ex on a sunny September afternoon

Radiohead: Hail to the Thief

After hearing Kid A, I was fairly certain that Radiohead had grown incapable of putting out anything other than self-indulgent wanking. Glad to see I was wrong.

Music:
Okay, so Hail to the Thief is self-indulgent, but it's also good. The band has energy, the songs are edgy, and the album is experimental. Most importantly, Radiohead rarely loses site of what made them great in the first place: they're a rock band with a mighty big imagination. Most of the songs are basic pop songs, but the band forces them to do things that are completely unnatural in pop music. Each song possesses layers of sound that reveal new secrets even after repeat plays. The music has a manic desperation that gets better with every listen. To me, this is a record that could accompany the end of the world. My only complaint about the album is it sounds like Son of OK Computer rather than Radiohead Does Something New.

(It's interesting to listen to "A Punchup at a Wedding," then listen to "Chimera Obscura" by The Velvet Teen. It sounds as if The Velvet Teen took a Radiohead idea and ran in a completely different direction with it. Each is a very strong song in its own way.)

Packaging:
I'm not even going to try to describe the meaning behind the painting of words and phrases (most of which seem to come from the lyrics) that makes up the first eight pages of the booklet. I know what it means to me, but I won't pretend to know enough about art or the artist to say I know what it means, period. All I can say is the artwork is strong enough to support a bit of thought and analysis. The lyrics are printed after the map of words, and they are the kind of words that are typical of Radiohead's brightest moments.

Listen if you like: Radiohead's OK Computer, Pink Floyd, Muse, Gorillaz

If it were food, it'd be: The last can of food in a bomb shelter or a lonely man's house

Angels and Airwaves: We Don't Need to Whisper

A few months ago, someone sent a postcard to Post Secret that read "Angels and Airwaves renewed my faith in God and love." Needless to say, when I saw We Don't Need to Whisper at the EPFL the week after that secret ran, I had to check it out.

Angels and Airwaves didn't renew my faith in God or love, but they certainly did restore my faith that a big and commercial band could possess nearly everything that makes rock music so incredible.

Music:
This is a perfect album, in the same way that Titanic was a perfect movie. It's not breaking new ground, it's a little simplistic, and all the snobs will dismiss it as commercial crap; but it's well-done, it connects with its audience, and it functions on an incredibly human level. Every single song is well-written and memorable, and the performances contain a good amount of subtle creativity. Most of all, though, despite all the big names and the glamour and the glitz, it's got heart. And heart, my friends, is what makes rock music perfect.

Packaging:
I'm not really sure how a dude floating through space while holding an umbrella relates to WWII fighter jets, and I'm not sure how any of it relates to angels, airwaves, or the combination of the two. Frankly, the artwork smells a bit too much like a Styx cover for my tastes, but hey, it's a mighty good cover if you're into that Styxy (Styxie? Stygian?) kind of thing. The lyrics are included, which is good but probably unnecessary since I was pretty much singing along with every song by my second pass through the album.

Listen if you like: Blink 182 songs like "Down" or "I Miss You" (Blink vocalist Tom DeLonge is the man behind A∓A), U2, Foo Fighters

If it were food, it'd be: A Granny Smith apple: a simple, unique, and tasty snack that is sure to annoy foodies.

U2: Pop

I would argue that U2 is the only true successor to The Beatles' throne. Sure, U2 isn't as exciting as Zeppelin or as heavy as Sabbath or as yearning as Springsteen or as bald as Phil Collins, but there isn't another band out there (other than The Beatles) who perfectly balance everything that makes rock so incredible. They are one of the very few rock groups to successfully reinvent themselves, and they might be the only band to do it more than once.

Music:
Pop would've been stronger if a song or two had been removed ("The Playboy Mansion" is the worst offender), and it didn't capture the energy of American club culture nearly as well as Achtung Baby captured the excitement of European dance music. With that said, the album is far better than critics make it out to be. Songs like "Mofo," "Gone," and "Miami" have an incredible amount of energy, while "Staring at the Sun" and "Do You Feel Loved" are good pop songs.

The highlight of Pop comes in the last three tracks, though. "If You Wear That Velvet Dress" nails the darkness of temptation, "Please" reeks of desperate prayers for a fragile peace, and "Wake Up Dead Man" is probably the most hopelessly hopeful song I've ever heard. These three songs alone make Pop an essential album for anyone who truly loves rock music.

Packaging:
When you strip the booklet to its barest elements, it's nothing more than lyrics, credits, and photos. But this is U2 at the point in their career where everything they did was larger than life, and the booklet reflects it. The jacket is printed on a silver background (which makes the grey text occasionally difficult to read), and the entire package screams out with loud colors. It's very well-done, but it mimics many of the design elements of electronic dance music of the time, making it less original than it could have been.

Listen if you like: the dancey side of U2, but especially listen if you like the songs that end U2 albums. If you like "Exit" or "Love is Blindness" or "40," the last three tracks on Pop will be right up your alley.

If it were food, it'd be: a fresh fruit smoothie at an after-hours dance club. You might be drinking it because you're dehydrated from drugs or alcohol, or you might be drinking it because it's 6am and you've been sober all night, but either way it's refreshing and revitalizing.

Horace Andy: Dance Hall Style

Like many casual reggae fans who came of age after 1980, I know Horace Andy from his exceptional work with Massive Attack. I picked up a few records over the years in hopes of learning more about him, but his catalog is erratic and I got some real stinkers.

I wish I had picked up Dance Hall Style before I gave up on buying his albums, because this is about as far from being a stinker as a record can get.

Music:
Every song is good, and the record is strong enough (and short enough) to be interesting from start to finish. I'm not sure when Dance Hall Style originally came out, but it's much closer to dub than it is to the dancehall sound that is associated with guys like Buju Banton and Shabba Ranks. The drums are rock solid, but the bass drives the entire recording in an unstoppable way. (Seriously, I can't turn a song off in the middle; when I listen to this in my car, I have to sit in a parking lot and wait for the song to end because the bass is mesmerizing.) Andy's voice is the real magic here, though. It is high pitched and urgent and oddly compelling. His voice is kind of tough to get used to at first, but he definitely has one of the most unique and powerful voices in all of reggae.

Packaging: n/a (Altered by EPFL)
From what I've seen, the packaging on the reissues of the albums from the Wackie's record label are fairly simple and straightforward, but still... all that's left here are the front and back covers. The artwork looks like cheap photocopies, which they probably were, given the time and place of the album's original release.

Listen if you like: Massive Attack, Gregory Isaacs, hypnotic basslines

If it were food, it'd be: Fried plantains. They're unusual at first, but after a few tries, you become addicted to their unique flavor.

Joe Jackson: Rain

Joe Jackson is probably one of the most underrated songwriters out there. Sure, he's got a loyal following and his career is entering its fourth decade, but his name never seems to come up alongside people like Paul McCartney and Leonard Cohen and Elvis Costello.

Okay, so maybe he's not quite on par with those guys. Perhaps it's because his lyrics are often too focused and/or intellectual to make a universal connection with a broad range of listeners, or maybe it's because nearly everything he touches is peppered with darkness and sarcasm. Whatever the reason, though, the songs on Rain -- like most of Jackson's catalog -- are probably some of the greatest, darkest, most thoughtful songs you've never heard.

Music:
Jackson is more consistent on Rain than he was on his last release, Volume 4, but he's not as wild and unrestrained. He still relies on bassist Graham Maby and drummer Dave Houghton, but guitarist Gary Sanford is absent, leaving only Jackson's piano and voice to fill the melodic and harmonic void. And fill it he does, albeit in an often understated way. Lyrically, the melancholy songs are among the darkest and most powerful he's ever written, and his disdain for pop culture is as cutting as ever. As with most of his albums, there are a handful of throwaway tracks, but the strong songs more than compensate.

Packaging:
Once again, the fine folks at the EPFL have mangled the package to make it fit into a jewel box, but at least the jacket survived. Both of the photos in the booklet are strong, but the cover photo -- of Jackson wearing black and smiling beneath an umbrella on a rainy street -- captures the mood of the music perfectly. The lyrics are included, and the design is decent but uninspired. The EPFL's copy of Rain includes a DVD, which I didn't watch because I'm one of about three people left in the world who doesn't want visual accompaniment to their music.

Listen if you like: Elvis Costello is the most obvious comparison, but fans of REM's lyrics, Tom Waits' stories, or Dresden Dolls' drama might like this one.

If it were food, it'd be: A cup of coffee by yourself at a window table in a downtown coffeeshop late on a rainy Sunday afternoon.

Kings of Leon: Aha Shake Heartbreak

As I started listening to Aha Shake Heartbreak, I was fairly certain it was going to be little more than another post-Built To Spill indie rock album. Sure, there were some interesting influences here and there, but there wasn't enough happening in those first few tracks to get me excited.

But the farther I got into the CD, the more excited I got. It wasn't just that the music was subtly painted with a palette of eclectic influences. That was cool, but what really hooked me was the way the band sounds as if they decided to ignore the rules and celebrate everything they love about rock music.

Musically, I don't know what these guys are into, but any album that can make me think of The Who, Joe Cocker and The Police over the course of a single song is doing something pretty good.

Music:
Aha Shake Heartbreak feels completely coherent, yet it sounds like it's constantly on the verge of falling apart. The performances are energetic and exciting, yet they sound exhausted. It's a good kind of exhaustion, though, as if the band had been awake for days on end but just had to pull one more song out of themselves before they collapsed. The songs aren't memorable in the traditional pop-song kind of way, but I was singing along with a few of them (especially "Day Old Blues") the first time I played the CD. Aha Shake Heartbreak puts a big smile on my face that keeps coming back every time I play the album.

Packaging:
Normally, I'd make fun of a band for putting such a blatantly obvious sexual metaphor on the cover, but this is a mighty fine bit of cover art. Yeah, Georgia O'Keefe pretty much killed the whole "flower-as-vagina" symbolism decades before these guys were born, but the cover photo is interesting and beautiful and... well, it's sexy. The liner notes are clean and open, the lyrics are easy to read, and the use of color ties the whole package together. Hiding the photo of the band as children (Kings of Leon are three brothers and a cousin) beneath the CD tray was a nice touch.

Listen if you like: any straightforward yet completely unique rock band from the past 40 years, be it The Who, Lynyrd Skynyrd, or Modest Mouse.

If it were food, it'd be: A simple burger, grilled outdoors, with a secret spice that makes it wonderful.

David Sylvian: Everything and Nothing

I could try to review Everything and Nothing as an objective listener, or I could review it as a fan. I'm an objective listener in that I've never heard this anthology and many of the hard-to-find songs on it, but I'm a biased fan in that I believe David Sylvian to be one of the greatest undiscovered musical treasures of the past 30 years.

I probably wouldn't be a Sylvian fan if I hadn't been forced to listen to his album Secrets of a Beehive over and over and over again when I worked in a Los Angeles record store in 1990. The first few times, I dismissed it as light jazz drivel; but the more I listened, the more depth and beauty I heard in the music.

Sylvian's lyrics are often cryptic but nearly always poetic, a trait that is easy to overlook with one or two casual listens. He is also an experimenter who, as this collection shows, is never satisfied to recreate his past accomplishments. He's worked with some of modern music's great innovators, including Robert Fripp, Marc Ribot, Ryuichi Sakamoto, Talvin Singh, and Hector Zazou.

Music:
This is an excellent overview of David Sylvian's catalog, especially since it includes some rarities like "Pop Song" (originally released only as a single) and "Buoy" (originally on Mick Karn's "Dreams of Reason Produce Monsters"). Any collection like this is going to irritate one or two fans because this or that song was left off, but one obvious omission was the song "Forbidden Colours," a collaboration with Sakamoto from the film Merry Christmas, Mr. Lawrence.

As good as this collection is, I'm not certain it's a great starting point for people who don't know David Sylvian's work. It touches on the different sounds Sylvian has explored, but its diversity prevents the listener from being immersed in a single mood. For new listeners with leanings towards experimental and progressive music (yeah, I'm talking to you, Mad Hatter), The First Day is an excellent introduction, while people who prefer acoustic instruments and strong lyrics might prefer Secrets of the Beehive.

Packaging:
Every David Sylvian package has fallen somewhere between very good and astounding, and this one is down towards the "very good" end of the scale. It's a simple package whose primary contents are details about each song (including who played the instruments, and where and when it was originally released) and photographs. As with the music, the photos span more than 20 years of Sylvian's career, and it's kind of neat to see how he's changed over the years.

Listen if you like: This is tricky, because it's the kind of music that could appeal to everyone and no one. King Crimson fans should give it a listen (for the experimental qualities), but so should Dylan fans (for the poetry) and Peter Murphy fans (for the voice). Bowie and Bryan Ferry fans might find something they like.

If it were food, it'd be: Dark chocolate. It's an acquired taste, but it's irresistibly delicious once you acquire the taste.

PJ Harvey: Rid of Me

When Rid of Me came out, I hated it. I liked my female vocalists to possess angelic voices that were sad and mopey. A dash of sexy didn't hurt, as long as there wasn't too much sexy. The sexy couldn't outweigh the sad, if you know what I'm saying.

Needless to say, Polly Harvey freaked me out back then. She didn't sound sad, and she certainly wasn't angelic. Honestly, her moaning and her groaning was kinda scary. She didn't weep about doomed relationships, she wailed about them. She didn't quietly celebrate her soft femininity, she raged about it. All the while, the band was way too busy kicking ass to waste time strumming guitars over pretty piano chords.

I've grown up a bit since then, so when I checked out Rid of Me from the EPFL, I was ready to tackle it with ears that weren't afraid of raw emotion. It's a good thing, because there's a lot of raw emotion on this album. Coupled with the raw production, it makes for a pretty raw album.

And that's good. The rawness here is the kind of rawness that the musical world needs. I wish there were more of this kind of rawness in music. It's the kind of thing that grabs you by the throat (or by the ears, I guess), shakes you, and says, "Hey, motherfucker, I'm alive and I'm feeling some shit, and you're gonna hear me out."

Music:
Rid of Me may not be as good as it's been made out to be over the years, but it's still pretty awesome. Steve Albini's production captures the band's raw energy without making them sound small or sloppy. The dynamics are excellent, and of all the quiet/loud/quiet bands that sprouted during the early '90s (including Nirvana), none of them captured musical extremes as well as PJ Harvey did on the song "Rid of Me." The album is somewhat repetitive, and they probably could've ditched tracks 2-5. The opening song is incredible, though, and the second half of the album is so unstoppable that I'm disappointed when it ends.

Packaging:
There's nothing pretty about the photos of Polly Harvey. I hated them 15 years ago, but I love them today. The lighting and shading are completely unflattering, and remind me of the American Apparel ad campaigns. (Why does a clothing company market their wares (wears?) in a way that is, at least in my opinion, completely unsexy? Obviously they understand something I don't, because I bet they make way more money with their "unsexy" ad campaigns than I make with my library blog. Anyway.) If the jacket contained more than song titles and credits -- or at least if they were presented in a remotely interesting way -- the packaging would've gotten a higher score.

Listen if you like: Nirvana, The Kills, The Pixies, Cat Power, Patti Smith

If it were food, it'd be: A shot of tequila, straight up with no lime or salt or any of that other nonsense that people do to ruin the sweet bite of tequila.

Burning Spear: Man in the Hills / Dry and Heavy

Reggae isn't really my thing, but I know that Burning Spear -- a.k.a. Winston Rodney -- is an artist who deserves to be heard. This CD contains two early Burning Spear albums, and it's easy to understand why they are both said to be great reggae records.

The opening track, "Man in the Hills," is about a family working together, each member doing what he or she can for the greater good. The overall mood is not one of exhaustion or complaints, but one of harmony and love and joy. As the albums progress, this harmonious hope is layered atop political awareness and pleas for peace among warring groups. There is an overarching sense of black pride, but it is inclusive and tolerant rather than exclusive and racist.

Frankly, as a citizen of Baltimore at a time when women routinely raise their children alone, parents cycle between addiction and incarceration, and young people identify with music that celebrates violence and hatred, Burning Spear's message is shocking. It's shocking to hear about a family working together in the name of love. It's shocking to hear a musician praise responsibility and community. It's shocking to hear a story about a dad who didn't leave the family to pursue his love for drugs or violence or good times. It's shocking to hear music that is hopeful and positive, yet still powerful and revolutionary.

Music:
Even if you don't love reggae, this is worth a listen. Yes, it can be monotonous to those of us who don't have a deep passion for reggae, but when I listen on headphones and pay attention to the words and music, each track takes on a life of its own. The performances are flawless, and the band has a great groove. Rodney's voice is smooth but powerful, and he brings a richness to the music that makes it clear why Burning Spear is considered to be one of the most important artists in the history of reggae.

Packaging:
The artwork and liner notes are very good. So many "two albums on one disc" packages include nothing more than the covers and track listings from the original albums, but that's not the case here. The original notes from Man in the Hills are included (notes for Dry and Heavy are absent, making me wonder whether or not any were included on the original release), as are full musician credits for each album. Best of all, there's a three-page essay that talks about the history of Burning Spear, the making of these two albums, and each of the songs. The color scheme, photos, and paper stock all contribute to a package that is almost perfect. The only thing that could have been better was the typeface for the essay, which is hard to read due to the small text and the brown-on-tan palette.

Listen if you like: Bob Marley and the Wailers, and you want to learn more about what reggae is about; music that is optimistic without being spineless; being black, or listening to music about being black.

If it were food, it'd be: a home-cooked meal with your family after a hard day of working together in a beautiful but imperfect world.

Mclusky: The Difference Between You and Me Is that I'm Not on Fire

Based on the album title and the song title and the photos, I was expecting to be greeted by distorto guitars layered beneath some screaming emo singer who was distraught because his life in suburbia is, like, totally meaningless. What I got was something that sounds like the bastard child of John Lydon and Tom Morello.

And I love it.

Nothing here is amazing, but it all comes together to create something greater than its parts. The production is thin and spacious; there's no "wall of sound," but there is definitely a wall of energy. What the band lacks in chops and skill, they more than make up for with creativity and heart. (Don't get me wrong; they have chops, just not the kind they can show off by playing "Stairway to Heaven" in the local guitar shop.) There's something very dark happening in the music, but there's also an undeniable sense of fun. These guys sound as if they want, need, and love to make music together.

Wow. I just re-read that paragraph, and I realized that I wrote the recipe for a great rock album. The Difference Between You and Me Is that I'm Not on Fire may not be great, but it's certainly knocking at the door.

Music:
I don't know if it's the production, the performances, or the songwriting, but The Difference reminds me a bit of early P.J. Harvey. (Like Mclusky, P.J. Harvey has been produced by Steve Albini.) The music is sloppy and chaotic, but it moves like a freight train. On the first listen, I got a bit bored by the second half of the album, but it got better and better each time I played it. The weakest part of the album is probably the lyrics; they're either gibberish or genius, and they have the same kind of curious appeal as Soul Coughing's words.

Packaging:
The cover photo is striking, but other than establishing a black & white color scheme, I'm not certain how it relates to the album. Every photo in the booklet is strong in its own way, and they all fit the music well. The live photos of the group reflect performers who seem totally engaged with their music, and the silly photos manage to inject some lightness without making the band look like a bunch of clowns. The lyrics are fairly easy to read, although artist Victoria Collier could have bumped up the font-size without compromising the design.

Listen if you like: Public Image Ltd., P.J. Harvey, Flipper, Deftones, Rage Against the Machine

If it were food, it'd be: Wasabi. It surprises and hurts at first, but you're excited to get some more as soon as it fades away.

The Dresden Dolls: Yes, Virginia...

I've heard great things about The Dresden Dolls. They're like a rock version of Kurt Weill. They're crazier than Tom Waits. They're better than sliced bread.

My expectations were high, and Yes, Virginia... almost lives up to them.

The Dresden Dolls is the duo of Amanda Palmer (piano/vocals) and Brian Viglione (drums). They make an incredible amount of noise for a two-piece, and their songwriting is edgy but sophisticated.

My biggest problem with Yes, Virginia... is the lyrics. Lines like "there are some school kids / yelling and running / I barely notice / that I am cumming," aren't good enough for either Penthouse Forum or a second-rate poetry magazine, but somehow they made it onto the album. It's a shame, because the loneliness and isolation of "First Orgasm" could've been incredibly moving with the right words.

At times, however, the lyrics shine. The suffering and denial in "Mrs. O" is captivating, and "Delilah" offers a sad picture of a girl who screws her way to the bottom. But the album's star is "Sing," a bright song that brought up an interesting dilemma for me.

I love swearing, but in lyrics, I believe it's most effective when no other words will suffice. When I first heard the closing refrain of "Sing" ("You motherfuckers, you'll sing someday"), I thought Palmer sounded like a 14-year-old who was trying to shock people. But after a few listens, I realized she was correct in her choice of words. She's angry because she loves the world and all the motherfuckers in it, and she wants us to sing -- for ourselves, for each other, for the good and the bad and the ugly and the stupid. And those of us who won't sing... well, she still wants us to sing, because we're the motherfuckers who need it most of all.

Music:
The Dresden Dolls have their own style. They don't always succeed, but they try something adventurous and, for the most part, they pull it off. At times, I do wish the songs were bigger. Palmer is a talented pianist, but her loud parts often sound as if she's simply banging on the keys instead of reaching into her piano and ripping out its innards. Fortunately, Viglione's drumming is strong and dynamic, and he adds power to the music without overshadowing its soul.

Packaging: (Altered by EPFL.)
The Dresden Dolls got a bunch of different artists to create pieces that were displayed in a destroyed theatre. I don't have a good enough eye to know what (if anything) was Photoshopped and what was set up in the old building, but it's all incredibly striking. The images remind me of a bizarre mix of Hiroshi Sugimoto's theatre photos and Urban Atrophy.

Listen if you like: Rock music that forces you to pay attention. To me, The Dresden Dolls sound like a mix of Rasputina's quirky chamber goth, Joe Jackson's Broadway-tinged new wave, and Sinead O'Connor's The Lion and the Cobra. Fans of Kurt Weill, Marlene Dietrich, and other German cabaret artists should give this a shot.

If it were food, it'd be: Soup. It's a weird soup, because it's got New England clam chowder and sauerkraut and even a bit of ratatouille in it, but it tastes pretty good. Yeah, sometimes you get a mouthful that's nasty, but don't be too quick to spit it out: if you roll it around on your tongue a bit, you might find that it's the best spoonful from the entire bowl.

Led Zeppelin: How the West Was Won

Finally, Zeppelin fans don't have to rely on crappy bootleg recordings or the underwhelming The Song Remains the Same to get a sense of what it was like to see the band in concert. This is a stellar document of two 1972 concerts by one of the most amazing bands in the history of rock music. The recording quality is crystal clear, the performances are inspired, and the energy leaps out of the speakers. This is everything a live album should be.

Unfortunately, it is also -- at times -- self-indulgent, overblown, and downright dull.

The first disc is incredible. The band stretches out and rocks in a way that they never could on a studio album. They don't worry about playing note-for-note renditions of their songs; instead, they fill nearly every song with unexpected twists and turns that breathe new life into the music. Every track on disc one is a gem.

The second disc is where it starts to fall apart. Jimmy Page's interminable guitar wankery on "Dazed and Confused" goes on and on and on, which would be fine if he actually played something worth hearing. But he doesn't. He just noodles. And noodles some more. And then noodles some more. At least John Bonham's never-ending solo on "Moby Dick" is musical, even to those of us who don't play drums. Things get back on track with the third disc, but it never regains the full excitement of disc one.

Music:
There are moments on How the West Was Won where the band's ego overshadowed their immense talent, but the majority of the music here has an incredible amount of spirit, sex, and soul. It could've been cut down to two discs without alienating anybody but the most devoted fans, but at least there is finally a live album that is worthy of the Led Zeppelin name.

Packaging: n/a (Altered by EPFL)
All that's included on the EPFL's version is the front and back cover. Frankly, the front cover is a perfect example of why people should be required to get an operator's license prior to buying Photoshop.

Listen if you like: rock music.

If it were food, it'd be: salt. You won't die if you don't have it, but no kitchen should be without it.

Brandi Carlile: The Story

In Songbook, Nick Hornby writes about a moment in Rufus Wainwright's "One Man Guy" when God makes a little cameo in the song. He (as in Hornby, not the capital-h He) is not sure if He (as in God, not the capital-h Hornby) pays a visit because maybe He hears the music from afar and wants to listen in, or because He understands what they're trying to do and wants to give them a little help; whatever the reason, God is in the song for just a moment.

When Brandi Carlile sang "All of these lines across my face tell you the story of who I am" in the last verse of the title song from The Story, I'm pretty sure that the Big Guy was in the studio with her. And while T Bone Burnett's production of The Story is superb, that must've been a humbling moment for him; somehow, winning Grammys for O Brother, Where Art Thou? doesn't seem quite as impressive when compared against, say, creating the universe.

Music:
Brandi Carlile's first album made me wish that she and the Hanseroth twins (her musical partners in crime) would let go of their reservations and take some real musical risks. While The Story still doesn't fully deliver on their potential, it's a big step in right the direction. This is the kind of album that you can sit down and listen to from front to back, and when the last note of the hidden track fades away, you feel like you maybe know a tiny bit more about life than you did before you pressed play. And isn't that what great rock and encounters with God are all about?

Packaging: (Altered by EPFL.)
The cover is designed to look like the cover of a weathered photo album or scrapbook, and it's a fitting (albeit overused) theme. The photos abandon the teen-popstar feel of Carlile's debut, and instead portray a sensitive yet possibly troublesome group of characters. The booklet focuses on words, but the space is effectively broken up by small woodcuts, fonts that alternate between black and maroon, and different typefaces for each song title.

Listen if you like: Jeff Buckley, Concrete Blonde, Elton John, the music on Smithsonian Folkways but you wish it were performed by rock bands.

If it were food, it'd be: fresh baked biscuits and gravy. It's a simple and honest meal that is hard to perfect. You're never quite the same after your first plate of good biscuits and gravy.

Eagles of Death Metal: Death by Sexy

If I didn't know anything about Eagles of Death Metal (which I don't, since I have no Internet access as I write this*), I would guess they're from Texas. They've got that crazy energy that seems to be synonymous with so many Texan bands: The crazy, oversexed fun of ZZ Top; the crazy, anything-goes attitude of Butthole Surfers; and even a bit of the crazy joy of The Polyphonic Spree.

Okay, so EoDM sound nothing like The Polyphonic Spree, but there's more than a passing similarity to the rawer moments of ZZ Top. In fact, Death by Sexy is a nearly perfect blend of stoner rock and basic '70s rock.

If sex-filled fun isn't your bag, don't even bother with Death by Sexy. EoDM mostly stays on the fun side of sexy, and the band only occasionally wanders into moronic misogyny. It's refreshing that "I Gotta Feeling (Just Nineteen)" celebrates the joys of getting it on with a lovely young woman of legal getting-it-on age, instead of the typical underage girls who have fueled rock fantasies since its earliest days.

(* The first thing I did after getting my Internet connection back was to read about Eagles of Death Metal. Apparently, Josh Homme from Queens of the Stone Age is half the band, and he helped inspire vocalist Jesse Hughes to start EoDM. Hughes and Homme are both from Palm Desert, CA, which must have been founded by a bunch of Texan immigrants or something.)

Music:
If Death by Sexy had been cut down to 10 songs, it might have been a perfect rock album. "I Want You So Hard (Boy's Bad News)" pulled me right in, and I didn't come up for air until things slowed down a bit on the fourth and fifth songs. "Don't Speak (I Came to Make a Bang)" kicks in with all the authority of a perfect side-2-track-1, and the energy doesn't subside until the final howl of the psychobilly influenced "Chase the Devil." And that's where the album should've ended. The last three songs would've made excellent B-sides or online giveaways, but they don't stand up to the rest of the material on Death by Sexy.

Packaging:
Like the music, the design is lighthearted. A sense of humor pervades the entire booklet, but the words are incredibly annoying to read. It's a shame because Eagles of Death Metal knows how to thank people. (Thanks to James Brown? And England, and ODB, and Memphis, and The Donnas, and boogie pirates everywhere, and babygirls and honeybabies and sweet babies and honey girls and sweet lil' rock'n'rollas? That's how thank yous should be written!)

Listen if you like: It's a perfect blend of ZZ Top, Ted Nugent, and Queens of the Stone Age

If it were food, it'd be: A Reese's Peanut Butter Cup, but with Texas rock instead of peanut butter and stoner rock in place of the chocolate.

Fela Kuti: The Best Best of Fela Kuti

If you love music and haven't heard Fela Kuti, you should check this out.

Fela Kuti wasn't a rock musician, but his music rocks. It is passionate and exciting, and like the greatest rock music, it feels like it could lose control and explode at any moment. His music is both chaotic and controlled, and there is always fire simmering just beneath the surface. He was a very influential man in both rock and jazz, and although his name isn't widely known, his presence can be felt in virtually every style of popular music.

Music:
This isn't necessarily a 4-star collection, but it's tough to make a "best of" for an artist like Kuti. Seminal Fela tracks like "Lady," "Zombie," and "Coffin for Head of State" are included. More than half of the songs on this two-disc set have been edited, but since this is presumably an introduction, that was a reasonable decision and each edit maintains the essence of the original song. My only complaint is that one or two of the (relatively speaking) less exciting tracks could've been sacrificed to make room for something from Fela Ransome-Kuti and the Africa '70 with Ginger Baker - Live!, a stellar live album featuring the drummer from Cream.

Packaging: n/a (Damaged)
It's a shame that the booklet is missing most of its pages, because it looks like it offered a good overview of Fela Kuti and each of the songs. There's enough text in the EPFL copy, though, to give an idea of the demons and desires that drove this man, both musically and politically.

Listen if you like: Red Hot Chili Peppers, Kanye West, Sun Ra, Bad Brains, Bob Marley, Talking Heads, Public Enemy, The Clash, Billy Bragg, Ornette Coleman, The Good The Bad & The Queen, James Brown, etc.

If it were food, it'd be: Some imaginary food that combines efo (a Nigerian stew made from leafy green vegetables) with fried chicken and hamburger and good lager and hot peppers and fresh corn and potatoes and about a thousand other ingredients from all over the world, and somehow it all tastes delicious and when you're done eating, you're a little bit smarter and a little bit tougher and a little bit sexier and a little bit closer to starting a revolution that will tear down injustice and replace it with truth.

Blackalicious: Nia

Blackalicious makes me believe that musicians can make a difference in the world around them. If, by some bizarre and improbable chain of events, their music became ingrained in the psyche of Baltimore, this city would be better. More people would think about who they are and what they do, and would demand excellence of their children, their schools, their leaders, their neighbors, and themselves. Fewer people would get caught up in the small-minded violence that's resulted in a skyrocketing homicide rate and a generation of kids who believe guns are legitimate tools of negotiation.

With all that said, I'm a wee bit disappointed by Nia. That's probably not fair, because 2005's The Craft is one of my favorite albums of the past few years. Most artists get better with time, and I shouldn't expect Blackalicious to have had a fully formed vision on their 2000 debut, even if it was released after nearly a decade of 12" singles.

But I'm still disappointed.

There are some really good songs on Nia. "Cliff Hanger" sounds like a musical version of Quentin Tarantino's Kill Bill movies, and suggests that maybe DJ Shadow and The Gift of Gab should've done those soundtracks instead of RZA. The various interpretations on "Nia" that are scattered throughout the album help to cement a theme while dabbling in different musical textures. "Shallow Days" and "As the World Turns" reflect a reliance on strength and spirituality that is desperately necessary as we begin the third decade of NWA-inspired thug-kill-thug idiocy. "Sleep" is a nice way to wind down into a mellow frame of mind, and it would have been an excellent way to close the album -- although "Finding" does work better as a closer, given the musical scope of the entire project.

The strong points are offset by songs that are almost -- but not quite -- special. "A to G" is fun, but it feels like the musical equivalent of a project that an art professor would assign to a freshman color theory class. "Dream Seasons" and "Smithzonian Institute of Rhyme" both have great grooves, but they fade into ambient background noise. Songs like these, songs that just miss the mark, are the rule on Nia, not the exception. (On a personal note, it's nice that they included Nikki Giovanni's "Ego Tripping (there may be a reason why)," because their interpretation is interesting and it will introduce her work to a new audience. But Giovanni irritates me. I heard her speak many years ago, and she came across as an arrogant pseudo-intellectual with poorly formed ideas who talked down to her audience. I don't do well with self-important elitists who feel the need to prove their superiority in front of 20 people at a bookstore in Jersey. Who knows... maybe she's come down from her ivory tower since then.)

Nia's baseline is set early, and the music never falls below that mark. It's consistent, and it's consistently good. It's just not as exciting or cohesive as what they would do a few years later.

Music:
If I hadn't heard The Craft first, I'd probably love this album. The production is strong, the words are creative, the messages are meaningful, and the music is soulful. Nia is a very good album, but it's a bit too self-conscious and contrived to reach greatness.

Packaging:
The artwork is striking. I love the studio shots, and the collage and color effects work well. I only wish they'd included lyrics.

Listen if you like: Jurassic 5, A Tribe Called Quest, DJ Shadow, Wu-Tang Clan, The Coup, Nikki Giovanni

If it were food, it'd be: I'm still waiting for that Blackalicious Burger at Soul Vegetarian.