Neko Case: Blacklisted

Without Neko Case's voice, Blacklisted would be better-than-average alt-country. With Case's voice, it is moody and haunting and exciting and dark and sexy and scary and powerful and invigorating and... well, just take a listen and add your own adjectives.

Music:
The musicians play together like old friends sitting around the living room in the wee hours of the morning, and Case's voice wraps everything together like a fireplace and a bottle of cider. Every time I listen, I find a new second-favorite song. ("Pretty Girls" is always my favorite, for it is the moment when everything and everyone on the record gel together perfectly.)

Packaging:
There's a beauty and desperation in the cover that accurately reflects the music. Case lies seductively on the pavement behind an old van filled with someone's possessions, highlighted in a bright flash that darkens the warm oranges of a cloudy sunset. The text that forms Case's name wraps off of the booklet, which is a really nice touch that you don't really notice until you're holding the booklet. The inside of the jacket is typical indie rock fare. There are no lyrics, which is a shame because I'd much rather read Case's words than look at trite mirror-images of old guitars.

Listen if you like: Jesse Sykes and the Sweet Hereafter, k.d. lang, Shelby Lynne, Wilco, The Sadies

If it were food, it'd be: That bottle of cider I mentioned a few paragraphs back.

Harry Belafonte: Belafonte Returns to Carnegie Hall

As I learn more about calypso music, I dismissed Harry Belafonte as a lightweight whose greatest contributions was a whitewashed version of an old calypso song. But a wise man at Smithsonian Folkways suggested that I take another look at Belafonte, so I checked out Belafonte Returns to Carnegie Hall, the only Harry Belafonte recording available from the EPFL. My goal was not simply to listen, but also to learn more about the man.

Apparently, Harry Belafonte is the kind of man who makes people happy, but isn't afraid to take a stand for his beliefs. While there's not a lot of blatant evidence of that mindset on this live recording from 1960, it's not difficult to find proof of the man's integrity in this concert.

The most obvious thing that Belafonte does at this show is something that's easy to overlook: he gives up the stage to other artists. Whether it's "first lady of the folk song" Odetta, then-newcomer Miriam Makeba, the lighthearted Chad Mitchell Trio, or even his own backing band, nearly half of this Belafonte concert is handed over to other artists. It takes a courageous performer to shine the spotlight on other musicians, especially when those other musicians are talented enough to outshine the main artist.

This recording doesn't contain the aggression that I found so refreshing in Lord Invader's calypso, nor does it contain the overt politics of folk artists like Woody Guthrie or Pete Seeger. Belafonte was hardly a lightweight, though, and I was wrong to dismiss him as such. As for Belafonte Returns to Carnegie Hall, it's a fun and entertaining album by some very talented musicians, and it's a good reminder that sometimes we can accomplish more by giving up the spotlight than by hogging it.

Music:
This is light folk that branches into world music, gospel, and easy listening. There is a sense of playfulness throughout the album, and even when the songs get a bit serious, there's always a quip from the stage to bring everything back into the realm of fun. The album proves that Belafonte was an excellent entertainer, and it's hard to imagine any ghosts from that Carnegie Hall audience who don't still smile at the memory of this show. With that said, this isn't for people who are seeking "serious" folk and/or calypso.

Packaging:
Someone spilled water all over the liner notes, rendering them nearly unreadable. Fortunately, there are enough intact pages to convey a lot of information about this performance and these songs. Some more photos would have been nice, but all in all, this is a pretty good booklet.

Listen if you like: Kingston Trio, The Weavers, Odetta, Miriam Makeba, Harry Connick Jr.

If it were food, it'd be: a banana. It's light, it's healthy, it's got substance, and it gets even better when you add other things to it.

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.

Johnny Cash: American V: A Hundred Highways

(This is my 100th review of a CD that's available from the Pratt Library in Baltimore. It's kind of fitting, then, that this review relates back to my first visit to Charm City.)

I still remember the first book I bought in Baltimore. It was a sunny summer afternoon in 2000, and we were waiting for an Orioles game to start at Camden Yards. We had a few hours, so we wandered over to the Inner Harbor. Of course, I didn't know the difference between the Pratt Library and Pratt Street at the time, but I was immediately smitten by the gentrified charms of the Barnes & Noble that sits in an old power plant on the water. I walked up to the second floor and, as light streamed in one of the giant windows, I saw a book titled Japanese Death Poems, which happened to be a collection of farewell poems written by ancient Japanese monks just before they died.

A Hundred Highways is Johnny Cash's death poem. It would be hard to imagine a better farewell from one of modern music's greatest artists.

Music:
This probably wouldn't get a five-library-card rating if it hadn't been Johnny Cash's last record, but it's a perfect way to close the circle of his musical career. Interestingly (and fittingly), this is the only album in the American series that is almost entirely rooted in country. Yeah, there's a Springsteen song on there, but Cash and producer Rick Rubin had the wisdom to see that "Further on Up the Road" is actually a mighty fine country song at its core. A few of the songs kind of fade into the background, but there's not a bad moment on the album.

Packaging:
The cover contains a photo of Johnny Cash singing. Otherwise, the liner notes are black, and contain only credits and a powerful eulogy by Rick Rubin.

Listen if you like: life, love, and/or death

If it were food, it'd be: A last meal

AFI: Decemberunderground

A while back, I wrote a review where I compared My Chemical Romance to Mötley Crüe. If that's true, then AFI is the Dokken of the dark-and-scary punk/emo scene.

There's nothing wrong with Dokken, as long as you like '80s Southern California hair metal with tight pants and big guitar solos. Likewise, there's nothing wrong with AFI, as long as you like '00s Northern California goth punk with dyed hair and big angst.

If dyed hair and big angst aren't your thing, there's absolutely no reason to listen to Decemberunderground.

Music:
AFI may be emotional and they may be genuine, but nothing about Decemberunderground is unique. Every song follows a tried-and-true formula, a formula that exists solely to separate frustrated and angry teenagers from their hard-earned money. This is to punk what Saw IV is to horror movies: It's the cream of the crop of the lowest common denominator.

Packaging:
Oh, look. Bare trees. What a clever metaphor for the anger and loneliness that pervades these songs.

Clichés aside, the package is pretty awesome. The printing is absolutely gorgeous. Several of the photos were staged in a gallery and photographed (or they were Photoshopped by someone with some serious experience behind the mouse), which is a subtle but superb touch. The words are presented in a way that is legible but still creative, and reading the lyrics is a bit unsettling (in a way that compliments the music). Most of the band photos are pretty typical, but the photos of bassist Hunter Burgan are striking.

Listen if you like: Angels and Airwaves, Underoath, Taking Back Sunday, The Used

If it were food, it'd be: A burger from TGIFriday's. It's a commodity, not a creation.

Death Cab for Cutie: Plans

It's hard to describe why I consider Death Cab for Cutie to be one of the greatest rock bands of the past decade, especially when I look at the strikes against them: Their musicianship is competent but hardly exciting, their attitude is whiny, and their unoffensive blend of indie rock and adult alternative is destined for the grocery stores and elevators of the future.

Despite all of that, though, their songs are like a late night with an old friend.

The thing that makes Death Cab a great band in my eyes are Ben Gibbard's lyrics. The man has a gift for words. He describes scenes and feelings in a way that lets his listeners layer their own experiences on top of the songs. I wouldn't necessarily describe his words as brilliant poetry, but they are absolutely lyrical, in the truest sense of the word.

Music:
Plans isn't quite as powerful as Death Cab's previous release, Transatlanticism, but it's close. This is an album that crosses borders. I know goth kids who love it, punk fans who love it, metalheads who love it, and Barry Manilow lovers who love it. Nearly every song could've been a radio hit, but there aren't as many musical risks as there were on the band's other records. There are so many strong lyrics on the album that I'm hard pressed to focus on one song, but the hospital waiting room in "What Sarah Said" is a great example of Gibbard's gift with words.

Packaging:
Not to over-analyze the jacket, but the band seems to be playing with the idea of tiny bits of light (life) shining through the darkness (death). Abstract lighted windows and buildings pepper the liner notes, and the whole thing is printed on a glossy black paper that reflects light back at the listener. The plain black tray card keeps with this theme, and not only reflects the ambient room light but also the listener's face and surroundings; again, it's another way that Death Cab lets the listener become part of the album. The lyrics are included, but the decision to print them in a middle grey makes them a bit difficult to read. Of course, if I'm correct about the theme of the package, printing them in a more legible way would have destroyed the aesthetics, so the band probably made the right decision to slightly favor form over function.

Listen if you like: This is one of the few bands I'd recommend to almost anyone. It may not be your thing, but if you give it a chance, you might find something special nestled inside of it.

If it were food, it'd be: A warm mug of cocoa with someone you love who probably won't be in your world much longer.

The Killers: Sawdust

I felt sorry for The Killers when I listened to their third album, Sawdust. They had a wildly successful debut with Hot Fuss, but they got no love from "serious" music fans or critics. On Sam's Town, they tried to show how sophisticated and capital-m Mature they were, which left them somewhere between a second-rate Springsteen and a third-rate Queen. So when everything on Sawdust sounded like an attempt to recreate one of those two albums, I sighed a sad sigh and accepted the fact that The Killers were pretty much dead.

But then I read the liner notes, and I understood. These are songs that, for one reason or another, didn't make it onto either of the previous albums. These are the red-headed stepchildren. These are the remnants. Sawdust is, simply put, the sawdust.

Sawdust doesn't serve much purpose, but it does smell pretty good when you're sweeping it up off the floor. Sawdust doesn't serve much purpose either, but these songs sound pretty good for a bunch of rejects that were swept up off the recording studio floor.

Music:
This album is for fans. This is for people who love The Killers no matter what they do, and want more more MORE! Most of the songs aren't particularly noteworthy, and a few of them have some glaring flaws, but they're all perfectly listenable. There are a couple of tracks that stand out: the cover of Mel Tillis' "Ruby, Don't Take Your Love to Town" is a bit awkward but very enjoyable, and the alternate version of "Sam's Town" is better than the original.

Packaging:
I'm guessing the band had enough money to hire a real honest-to-God sculptor to create the log/arm on the cover, but something about the staging makes it look like cheesy Photoshop. The liner notes are generic, and contain nothing but basic song info, cute photos of the band, and a statement that "this album is dedicated to our fans." That's nice and all, but if The Killers really loved their fans, they wouldn't charge full price for a bunch of rare rejected songs.

Listen if you like: both of the previous Killers albums.

If it were food, it'd be: leftovers