Air: Pocket Symphony

The scenester pretentiousness of Air's early albums has been replaced with something a bit quieter and a bit warmer, and that's a huge step in a very good direction. The problem is, there's still no depth to either the music or the words. While their older albums, like Moon Safari, always reminded me of the self-important jackasses who frequent trendy parties, Pocket Symphony reminds me of being stuck listening to the shallow confessions of the same jackasses after the parties had faded into the light of day.

Music:
At its best, the music is reminiscent of cheesy synthpop ballads by mopey guys with silly hair; at its worst, it's like melodramatic new age compositions by overwrought men with silly moustaches. The lyrics possess the depth and wisdom of a hungover hipster who is filled with half-formed regrets. When Air actually tackles a pop song, it's like hearing a dumber version of James Taylor or Dan Fogelberg. Even guest spots by Jarvis Cocker (Pulp), Neil Hannon (The Divine Comedy), and Tony Allen (Fela Kuti, The Good The Bad The Queen) can't breathe life into this dud.

Packaging:
The idea of having translucent action figures created of JB Dunckel and Nicolas Godin was pretty cool, and it's worth reading the write-up on the cover art at Sleevage. With that said, the fact that the band is represented as a couple of clear plastic toys is remarkably appropriate.

Listen if you like: Soft rock of the '70s mixed with soft new age of the '80s.

If it were food, it'd be: white bread with margarine.

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.

Animal Collective: Sung Tongs

Although rock music seems to find fewer and fewer outlets as metal and punk and hip-hop have all been subverted (or unsubverted as the case may be) by commercial interests, we are still firmly entrenched in the rock era with but a few glimpses of where we might go next. But a closer look (or listen) reveals a possibility. Post-rock (or post-anything for that matter) can be a catch-all term for anything that steps outside of the established confines of its genre, but there are a few bands that seem to be taking the lead in what will perhaps be the next thing. Animal Collective is one of those bands. The question is whether this is a new avenue for rock music or an altogether different genre. The structure is different, the instruments are different, but yet there's something...something very rock about it.

Music:
Odd, repetitive rhythms and an almost complete absence of hooks makes Sung Tongs a tough listen. Rock's vocal-guitar-bass-drums approach is no more present than its verse-chorus-verse songs structure. Animal Collective walks off into the future as they see it and they seem to do so with a childlike naivité. Whether this movement is the future or demise of rock music (or just a blip on the pop music radar) remains to be seen, but this particular album is a little too quiet to be the one.

Is this more than just random experimentation? I think so. Granted, they don't boil things down into three minute pop songs. Instead, these are serious mood pieces that work together more like a movie, just without the visuals. It is experimental without a doubt, but there is a point if you're willing to change how you listen.

Packaging:
Frankly, the package does nothing for me. It has kind of a Day of the Dead feel to it and I guess it's clever that they have happy faces, but the music requires too much effort to try to figure out the artwork as well.

Listen if you like: Sigur Ros, TV on the Radio, Brian Eno, Ornette Coleman, the future...

If it were food, it'd be: The food of the future. Not that pill that turned into a meal on the Jetsons, but a real meal that we just don't quite know about yet. Maybe they'll eventually serve it at McDonald's and maybe they won't.

De La Soul: 3 Feet High and Rising

I have a lot of history with 3 Feet High and Rising. The first time I heard it was in 1989, when I was shaking off the shackles of the rotten hair metal that had bound me throughout my teen years. Since I'd never owned a rap album and this one was getting rave reviews, I decided to give it a shot. I played it once, hated it, and sold it.

Ten years later, a friend of mine played it in his car, and I was floored. I couldn't believe I'd hated it, because it was awesome! My friend bought me a copy for my birthday, I played it once, and then promptly filed it away on the shelf until I sold all of my CDs in a fit of post dot-com desperation.

Nearly 10 more years have gone by, and 3 Feet High and Rising has found its way into my ears once again. My life has taken some unexpected turns since I last heard De La Soul, and I'm glad to have the album back. I think the third time may be the charm. Indeed, three is the magic number.

Music:
The album's not perfect. The skits are annoying, the game show theme is stupid, and a few of the songs are weak. The rest of it, though? Wow. It's amazing. The fun stuff is genuinely fun, the serious stuff has some real depth, and there is an intelligence that is always present but never obnoxious.

I think what's most interesting about the album is how it shatters certain false perceptions about the late '80s. There seems to be some kind of cultural revisionist history that portrays a certain happiness and innocence during the Reagan and early Bush I years. Everyone wore day-glo colors and had funny hair, we listened to kitschy songs by new wave bands with silly names, and black people were simply modern Stepin Fetchits who hadn't yet corrupted white youth with the horrors of gangsta rap.

It's complete bullshit, of course. The '80s were marred by the threat of the Cold War and Reaganomics on a national level and the realities of AIDS and crack on the local level. White flight had peaked, well-paying blue-collar jobs were growing more scarce by the day, and countless communities throughout Baltimore (and every other major American city) had become ravaged by the one-two punch of crack and ass-backwards social policies.

What's interesting about 3 Feet High and Rising is that in between all the sexy things that "Jenifa Taught Me" and the positivity of the "D.A.I.S.Y. Age," there are some harsh statements about the realities of life in the worst parts of the worst cities in America. There is wisdom on this album, and it is just as meaningful today as it was 20 years ago.

(The EPFL version of this CD comes with a bonus CD that has B-sides and alternate versions and such.)

Packaging:
The packaging was too unique and identifiable. The culture of 1989 couldn't handle the contradictions of De La Soul, so they were pigeonholed as some kind of neo-hippie, peace-loving beatniks who were all style and no substance. It's not a flaw on the packaging as much as it's a flaw of our culture, but it still limited the group in a way they shouldn't have been limited. Of course, it also pushed them to do De La Soul Is Dead, so maybe the packaging should get an extra half-library-card for that.

Listen if you like: Hip-hop that thinks more than it postures.

If it were food, it'd be: A cold bottle of grape soda on a hot summer day in the city.

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.