Music
Section By Jeb D.
MICHAEL
Michael Jackson
At this juncture, is there any possibilty of consensus here? Fans will have messianic expectations, skeptics will be waiting to pounce on flaws, and both groups will insist on permanently locking first impressions into the MJ legacy (that fucking awful cover won’t help in that regard). I’m somewhere in between: once upon a time, a lot of us believed that Off the Wall and (to a lesser degree) Thriller seemed to promise that Jackson was laying the foundations for a new pop music. We were wrong, of course: Jackson, like Prince, would find himself following his own artistic path as the mainstream headed off in a different direction, and (like Prince) his eccentric public persona would come to overshadow evaluation of his music. While Jackson and Prince both made tentative moves to try and come to a rapport with hip-hop, Prince’s musicianship and production abilities allowed him to remain comfortable outside the mainstream–he was a genius, and got the same kind of pass as, say, Bob Dylan: geniuses don’t get written off during their fallow periods. Jackson, though, was expected to be the King of Pop, and anything less than total domination of the national cultural conversation was seen as a judgement on the supposedly diminished quality of his work, rather than on the fickleness of the pop marketplace. So where does that leave us with the music? This album is programmed nearly as cannily as Johnny Cash’s posthumous American VI, with the difference that Cash knew he was dying when he cut the songs, and even if he didn’t personally assemble his final album, he had no illusions about the significance of recording a song like “Ain’t No Grave.” Given Jackson’s (presumed) unawareness of the nearness of death, the inclusion of songs like “Much Too Soon,” “Behind the Mask,” and (for heaven’s sake) “I Can’t Make It Another Day” play an awful lot like an attempt to cap off his legacy with a kind of too-neat finality, and “Breaking News,” with its sound bites of salacious headlines is a kind of self-serving rebuke to the cult of celebrity (“the papparazzi” appear as the villains in no fewer than three songs, including the ham-handed “Monster,” with 50 Cent). A small army of producers (including Tricky, Fiddy, and Teddy Riley) have reached into the bag of Jackson tricks, with touches of “Billie Jean” decorating “Hollywood Nights,” and Lenny Kravitz filling in for Eddie Van Halen on “I Can’t Make It Another Day.” It can certainly be argued that the proportion of actual Jackson (as opposed to helpful posthumous partners) is a bit low, but I wouldn’t have expected Jackson’s potentially “completed” versions of these tracks to sound much different. The little snippet of Jackson’s studio demo that introduces “I Like The Way That You Love Me” ought to come off cheesy, in context, but I have to admit that it earns its poignancy: the man may have cracked under the pressure of an omniverous, prurient public, but in those few seconds, we’re back in the world of that 11-year-old kid with the astonishing voice and uncanny stage presence.
III/IV
Ryan Adams and the Cardinals
It’s typically perverse of Adams that his set of “outtakes” from Easy Tiger is twice as long as that album, and about as far removed from it as you could imagine. If that was his nod back to his Whiskeytown days, heartfelt with longing, III/IV is what Adams describes as “a double-album concept rock opera about the 80’s, ninjas, cigarettes, sex, and pizza,” with minimal introspection or twang, save on “Typecast.” To get the most out of III/IV, it will help to be fond of the version of Adams that is the Paul Westerberg manqué of Rock N Roll; a good portion of these two disks would have fit neatly on that album (“Sewers At The Bottom Of The Wishing Well” not only sounds like a tidier Replacements, it’s an image that no one but Adams– or Westerberg–would have come up with). The two CD’s are brimming with catchy, memorable rockers: the rousing “Users,” the psychedelia of “Kill The Lights,” the daft hyperbole of “Kisses Start Wars;” and I like the fact that a song about a self-centered clown who doesn’t quite get women is called “Star Wars” (“Is that too much to ask/ Someone to love and to love me/ Someone that loves me that way I love Star Wars?“). Some of the songs feel sketchy and a bit incomplete (“Stop Playing With My Heart” goes through about three different ideas for its refrain), but, hey, that’s also latter-day Westerberg to a “T.” If you’ve found yourself in the mood for the rootsy version of Ryan Adams lately… well, this won’t assuage that. But if, like me, you’ve found 2010 to be pretty fine year in all kinds of musical forms except straight-ahead rock ‘n’ roll, here’s a most welcome helping of big guitars, snotty vocals, and sharp, snarky wit.
BASIC INSTINCT
Ciara
Atlanta homegirl (hey, CHUDsters!) was inspired to get into the music biz when she stayed home from school and watched Michael Jackson videos on TV. Hers isn’t a story of hardscrabbling years spent schlepping from agent to agent, looking for that break: she was recording herself and her friends as a teenager, and had her own publishing deal right out of high school, got the big break from L.A. Reid, had some hits, hooked up with the Wilhelmina modeling agency, made bazillions and got on magazine covers and ads for chocolate cellphones. This last is the principal reason I’m covering this release: gives me an excuse to post that album cover photo. What– the music? Usual diva stuff, sassy sistah-isms, putdowns of rivals and exes, with guest rappers, funny voice EQs, and professionally polished beats– the hell did you expect?
TEMPEST: ORIGINAL SOUNDTRACK 
Elliot Goldenthal and Various Artists
Haven’t seen the movie yet, and if Julie Taymor weren’t the director, you might wonder if Goldenthal had gone completely off the rails thinking that this is what a Shakespeare film should sound like. But given that it’s Taymor, whether the film works or not, I have confidence that it won’t lack for provocative visuals… or “aurals,” provided here. It’s fitting that the album opens with an excerpt from the play, over a misty, minimal synth melody, with a vocal by Reeve Carney, because he’s at the center of his own little storm these days: he’s the lead in Taymor’s troubled Spider-Man musical, and his reedy breathiness has the right tone for Puny Parker. Ben Whishaw (who plays Ariel in the film) contributes a couple more similar readings, including a chilling “Full Fathom Five,” and the album closes on the wistful “Prospera’s Coda,” sung by Beth Gibbons. These vocal selections are mingled in among excerpts from Goldenthal’s score, ranging from the exciting guitar distortion of “High Day Two Step” to the ominous Glass-like “Hell Is Empty,” to the eerie, ethereal “Brave New World.” Like the Tron:Legacy soundtrack, I think Tempest has ambitions to be a standalone listening experience as well as an effective film score, and on balance, I’d say that Tempest works slightly better in that regard, but only slightly– it gets kind of a pass because, unlike Tron, you can’t just close your eyes and picture a more interesting movie (god knows closing my eyes and picturing Russell Brand conjures up just about anything BUT Shakespeare).
Other Noteworthy 12/14 Releases
Mumford & Sons, Laura Marling, and Dharohar Project, ITunes Festival London. Accidentally dropped this EP off last week’s column, but it’s not to be missed, one of those rare East-Meets-West recordings that gets the balance right. Fine live sound, with highlights including Marling’s chilling vocal on “I Speak Because I Can,” Mumford’s “The Cave,” and the rousing, ecstatic “To Darkness/Kripa.”
Philip Glass, Kepler. Haven’t heard Glass’ latest opera yet (there hasn’t even been a fully staged performance in the U.S. yet), but it’s got to be on the radar.
Diddy/Dirty Money, Last Train to Paris. Aural version of a 40’s romance flick, but with deep beats, and terms of endearment like “darling” replaced with “motherfucker.” Still, romance is as romance does.
Phish, Live in Alpine Valley 2010. Aural (2 CD’s) and visual (2 DVD’s) nirvana for people who found Nirvana a bit overstimulating.
Shriekback, Life in the Loading Bay. You know, at least when Devo or OMD do a comeback album, you get the sense that someone missed them in the first place. But if your 80’s jones is acting up, “Flowers of Angst” will spandau your ballet.
Roy Lee Johnson And The Villagers, Roy Lee Johnson and The Villagers. Johnson wrote “Mr Moonlight,” which I have had more than one person tell me is the worst song The Beatles ever recorded. If, like me, you think that’s a horribly misguided opinion, you may be ready for the Muscle Shoals funk to be heard here on “I Can’t Stand This Loneliness,” and “Patch It Up.”
Jonsi, Go Live. I probably don’t have to sell you on the delights of Jonsi’s solo album from early this year, and the live release sounds great (haven’t seen the DVD visuals), but I did have to quote the press kit: “the lead singer of Sigur R¢s’s gone on a world tour to defend his gem on stage.” Defending your gem can be a full-time job, can’t it?