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Superchunk Come Pick Me Up (Merge)
Ten years of tumult in the world of indie rock--commercial breakthroughs, industry appropriation, faux alternatives, industry indifference, and now a kind of micro reconsolidation--seem to have had little effect on Superchunk, a much-loved pop-punk band who've been doing their enthusiastic thing on their own label since 1989. Their seventh album sounds only slightly marked by age; some less frenetic singing from leader Mac McCaughan, a few more angular numbers, and a continuation of the instrumentation added to their last album (strings 'n' things). Yeah, sure: still a refreshing pick-me-up. 7/10 (Chris Yurkiw)
DJ Me DJ You Simplemachinerock (Emperor Norton/Outside)
Those of you who've been holding your breath for some new action from Sukia may now exhale. Two-thirds of Sukia, Craig Borrell and Ross Harris, are now operating under the DJ Me DJ You tag, and this 5-track letter of introduction is like Sukia Plus. The embarrassing analog doodling and sexy/silly samples are there, but in a more danceable context, snugly ensconced in a softcore psychedelic, kooky cosmophonic, Bollywood boom-bap wrap. Peel off the plastic and you're immediately hit with both a foul bong-crud odour and what Russ Meyer once called "the unmistakable smell of female." In short, some wickedly groovy shit. 8/10 (Rupert Bottenberg)
Choclair Ice Cold (Virgin/EMI)
Easily the most recognizable voice in hip hop coming out of this country, Choclair would like to see the "Canadian" dropped from his description. And why not? This brother is internationally known, and has been steady keeping heads on their toes for years with his clear-cut disses and lady-laden lyrics. Ice Cold is the result of a lot of hard work on the part of this T.O. boy who knocked things out the box with "Just a Second" and "21 Years" a few years ago. Now on Virgin, Choc's wide array of beats has him reaching all kinds of heads, while still staying true to the suave rhyme-sayer styles that made him the man in the first place. Guests include Saukrates, Jully Black, Kardinall and Rascalz, also heavyweights Guru and Memphis Bleek. Another point for the T Dot. 7.5/10 (Scott C)
Sons of Otis Templeball (Man's Ruin/Sonic Unyon)
Toronto's Sons of Otis rub shoulders with the bowel-emptying heaviosity of Sleep, The Melvins, Saint Vitus, Shallow N.D. and Earth. But it's the use of antique equipment and sub-low notes that differentiates Sons of Otis from the others. If Lee Scratch Perry were a white, teenage stoner living in a basement in Scarborough, then this is probably what he would've come up with. If you like your heaviosity as thick as molasses and you're on the stoner tip, then flame up a bat and set the controls to the heart of the sun. Your band has arrived. 8.5/10 (Johnson Cummins)
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