THE SPECIAL EDITION: 06.08.10

MUSIC

Five years on from Man-Made, about the only thing that seems to have changed is that the band seems less reliant on drilling every hook into your brain through endless repetition: their arrangments are getting to be as tight and to the point as their writing, making each sublime melody that much more delectable. There is a very short list of bands that could write a song called “When I Still Have Thee” and not have it come off as cheaply ironic or unbearably twee. Instead, like the other gems on this album, it’s heartfelt power pop at its best (and most enigmatic: “Well, the Rolling Stones / Wrote a song for me / It’s a minor song / In a major key“).

　

OK, covering Spoon I might have expected; Depeche Mode and even Kate Bush, sure. But Dwight Twilley? The Moody fucking Blues? This is a covers album of rare genius. I’d like to think that if I’d made it to Record Store Day this year, I’d have snagged the vinyl version, but I doubt I’d have been that perceptive. It’s a genuine ear-opener, though, and I’m glad to have it now; the carnival keyboards on “I Remembered What I Was Going to Say” are almost worth the price of the album alone, but track after track gives up some similar musical left-turn that keeps the sound consistent, but never gets complacent. And, damn, that cover of “Question” is absolutely addictive. Plus, the title’s a palindrome, so extra credit there, fellas.

　

If the idea of a rootsy singer-songwriter with ambitions to be a Deano / Sammy-style crooner isn’t odd enough, try the fact that John McCauley has been known to perform in moderately sized theaters with no amplification… as in, none at all (no mike). Never actually heard him do it, but there’s enough cracked character in his voice that you can easily imagine him putting the songs across that way. And the songs are worth the listen: “Twenty Miles” is typical: a “give me one more chance” number where our narrator admits the usual set of alt-country transgressions (“I deserve every stone that got thrown down at me“), but then asks to be forgiven because “I think of your smile and I’m in love with your teeth.” Plus, when was the last time you heard a songwriter compare the current state of the world to “Mange”? A must for fans of John Prine or Townes Van Zandt; a pretty good recommendation for anyone else.

. With great new tracks from (among others) Vampire Weekend, Florence and the Machine, and The Dead Weather, plus an amazing cover of “Let’s Get Lost” by Beck and Bat For Lashes, this actually might be the best album of the week. But I’ll be goddamned if I was gonna put up a graphic of that stupid album cover.

When a band waits till their third album to self-title, that typically suggests renewed purpose. And I will say that there’s more, say, Susan Tedeschi than Bonnie Raitt this time out. But less personality, too: there’s nothing with the observational specificity of “Toothbrush And My Table,” and on tracks like “Colors,” she approaches Stevie Nicks at her wimpiest. Not bad when it’s rocking, but did it really take three albums for her to come up with “What don’t kill you makes you stronger”?

Dierks Bentley, Up on the Ridge. I’m not sure that even Bob Dylan himself would think it worth his time to record “Senor (Tales of Yankee Power)” these days, but how else you gonna prove you’re not just another Nashville hunk? It’s all rootsy fiddle and frenetic bluegrass backing this time out. The originals are OK, the covers an interesting assortment: if you’ve misplaced your copy of Pickin’ On U2, Bentley’s cover of “Pride (In The Name Of Love)” will tide you over.

Hanson, Shout It Out. OK, I’ll admit that Tinted Windows gave the impression that at least one Hanson might have something more to offer than warmed-over bubblegum soul. But then I remembered that Taylor’s brothers were actually not members of Cheap Trick, Smashing Pumpkins, and Fountains of Wayne, which is the part of Tinted Windows that I actually enjoyed. Not terrible, but your life’s too short to spend forty minutes with this album.

Nevermore, The Obsidian Conspiracy. I don’t think I want to hear these guys cover The Doors’ “The Crystal Ship.” And if “She Comes In Colors” is, in fact, the song from Love’s Da Capo album, I’d probably want them hunted down and shot. So maybe it’s best I don’t actually listen to this one at all.
 
Andy Bell, Non-Stop. Hard to think of a better title for an album that is clearly designed for a full evening on the dance floor. A little deeper and darker sounding than Erasure, and maybe even a bit more disco-glam, if that’s even possible.

Orianthi, Believe (II). What I believe is that some people should just shut up and play their guitar.

Rooney, Eureka. Competent power pop and lite soul. Won’t disturb your sleep, but won’t sound at all bad on a summer afternoon.

Gary Wright, Connected. The only reason I’m not saying something snarky about this album is that I haven’t heard it. But I once saw this poor sod open for the J. Geils Band (back in their bluesrockin’ days), performing onstage in a nightgown. Hard to top that.

Jewel, Sweet and Wild. You don’t care what this album sounds like, and neither do I.