Morphine The Night (Ryko/Universal)
Ekova Heaven's Dust (Six Degrees/Outside)
Ui The Iron Apple (Southern) In theory, I'm glad that the loose genre of "post-rock" exists. But listening to theory is about as fun as... well, you know. Still, life ain't all incense and peppermints, and there are moments of sublime deconstruction on this five-song EP from NYC trio Ui, during which you can literally hear pounds of rock's flesh being pressed onto a template that looks forward to a more electronic age--but also back to the jazz-informed noize of New York No Wave. Things start off Ui-like enough with the sinewy funk of "Mrs. Lady Lady," but by the time mainman Sasha Frere-Jones gets his digits into remixing "Blue Pietro," old buildings collapse, the CD sounds like it's skipping, and you wish it would go on forever. 7/10 (Chris Yurkiw)
Peter Murphy Wild Birds 1985-1995 (Beggar's Banquet/Select) Although Bauhaus is back together, fresh from their "Resurrection Tour," singer Peter Murphy did a long solo stint, and this CD is a collection of singles and other tracks from his various dismal outings--slim pickings, boys 'n' girls. They put "Cuts You Up" on first, because it's one of the few good tracks he did. Don't get me wrong, Peter Murphy has an incredible voice and he's been known to write the hell out of song, but let's just say I'm glad he and the Bauhaus boys are back together, workin' on some new shit. 6/10 (Lateef Martin)
Fifty Tons of Black Terror My Idle Hands (Beggars Banquet)
Crowded House After Glow (Capitol/EMI) Crowded House broke up? Almost three years ago?! Well, my brother-in-law's not gonna be happy about that. As for me, I obviously didn't notice and I wish I could say I cared. Because this posthumous collection of outtakes and b-sides (and besides) is perfectly typical of an ol' Crowded House album--right down to its eliciting of mysteriously glowing reviews. Yes, Neil Finn was an elegant singer-songwriter. No, he wasn't a Paul McCartney for his day (that would've been Bob Mould, or Grant Hart, or Mojo Nixon). Yes, the songs have a gorgeous guit-pop sheen. No, they don't have sharp hooks and they don't stay with you. But somehow, Crowded House are still around. 6/10 (Chris Yurkiw)
No Retreat Rise of the Underdog (Da Core Records)
Dan-E-O The Book of Daniel (One Rock/Page) You may remember Dan from the very first compilation that Beatfactory ever put out. Rapessentials Vol. 1 featured the track "Dear Hip Hop," a reflective look at the importance of the culture in Dan-E-O's life, laden with rapid-fire delivery and a ripe beat. The Book of Daniel's biggest problem lies in the fact that some of the beats are nice, but most of them are not memorable. Dan is still ripping through the lyrics, but almost to the point where I want to say slow down--it would be nice if I could catch them all. Monolith Crew represents though, with shining appearances by Grimace Love and Nish Rawks. 6.5/10 (Scott C)
Various Obscene Underground Volume 2 (Placebo/Stickman) Toronto's DJ Mastermind has been throwing down the hot shit for too many years now, mastering the mixtape output like no other. Why then, is this fairly applaudable "mixed" comp not really mixed at all? When "The Exquisite" by Arcee ends, it sounds like one of those CD scratch things mixing in the beginning of Polyrhythm Addicts' "Motion 2000." The playlist is alright though, even if some of the songs are old. You get a couple of BrassMunk tracks, as well as Phife, D.I.T.C., Dilated and even some Nefarius. You also get a bunch of nerdy pictures of Mastermind posing with his peoples. 7/10 (Scott C)
DJ Me DJ You Rainbows and Robots (Emperor Norton/Outside)
Tosca Suzuki (G-Stone/Fusion III)
Michael Dog Summer Night Sessions (Planet Dog) My first introduction to Planet Dog's world of dubby electronica and weird acid slow jams was through the Interchill boys (aka DJs Arnaud and Andrew) and their famous chillout sets at raves. Five years later, Planet Dog frontman Michael is back with a new compilation comprised of a mish-mash of ethereal drum & bass and ambient/mellow electronica from artists like Flytronix, Banco de Gaia and Future Engineers. 6.5/10 (Krista)
Christopher Lawrence Empire: A Trance DJ Mix (Moonshine) My roommate made an interesting point about CDs like this one: high-energy tech-trance DJ mixes just don't make for great at-home listening. They can really only be fully appreciated in the rave setting. That said, this mix by L.A.-based Christopher Lawrence, dubbed "America's top trance DJ" by the U.K.'s Muzik magazine and known as the "trance messiah" here in America, is the quintessential main room experience captured on CD. Featuring tracks from the messiah himself, as well as Baby Doc and the Secret. 7.5/10 (Krista)
Phineas Newborn The Piano Artistry of... (Koch)
One of the great debut sessions of all time. In 1956 it indeed introduced the world to the artistry of this marvellous musician from Memphis. A superb, well-recorded programme--Newborn solo, with Oscar Pettiford and Kenny Clarke, and (added on four tracks) his guitarist brother Calvin. Included is music by Bird, Bud, Brownie and John Lewis. Newborn died at age 57 in '89, and musicians have petitioned the Memphis city council to erect a statue in his honour. 10/10 (Len Dobbin)
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The sense of mortality that has always been present in Morphine's low-frequency, minimalist sexbluesrock seems so much vaster now that Mark Sandman has left us, after a heart attack on stage in Italy last July. The bassist of the trio was always the binding agent, the magician who could command the thick black ooze from the scarred-over corners of the heart into forms of noble beauty. He understood the correct use of essentials, of waste-not-want-not, and the expansion of Morphine's sound on this, their final disc, proves this point. Judiciously supplementing the bass/drums/sax are strings, piano, keys (John Medeski!) and even oud, indicating Sandman's greater plans for things now never to come. Tragic, yes, but Morphine always made tragedy sound good, didn't they. 10/10 (Rupert Bottenberg)
A North American deal has finally clicked for this Parisian trio (Heaven's Dust is actually a good two years old), so now we'll see if they click with a North American audience. They certainly made their mark at last summer's MEG showcase at Cabaret--Algerian oud and Iranian percussion supporting singer Dierdre Dubois' medievalized nonsense verse, all lightly dusted with electronic shimmer. A sort of sonic travelogue for madeup "faraway lands" is what this is, so if that's your bag, have your passport ready. The magic carpet's gassed up and revvin' to go. 8/10 (Rupert Bottenberg)
Still feeling the void left by noisemeisters like the Birthday Party, Killdozer, Chrome Cranks, Rapeman, Cop Shoot Cop and Scratch Acid? Well, have no fear, my misanthropic freak, salvation has come and it sure as hell ain't pretty. Singer Charlie Finke brushes shoulders with a lot of David Yow-isms as the band torture their six-strings and bash away with almost total abandonment and bloodlust. Only on "The Fool at Blood Gulley" do these strange limey men with heads full of Flannery O'Connor and Cormac McCarthy slow down to sow some bad seeds. For the most part, My Idle Hands is wishing the world had one neck so it could wring it. 8.5/10 (Johnson Cummins)
Rules for hardcore bands:
No sooner do we shake our heads clear of their debut EP Simplemachinerock from last November than the dyspeptic duo called DJ Me DJ You (Craig Borrell and Ross Harris, once of Sukia--but you know that) cartwheel back in to freak us out again. Here is yet more of their rummage sale rigamarole and blacklight bumbaclot brouhaha to scrounge through. And you know, in there with the queasy grin fuel and crosseyed party favours are some special, secret moments of touching tenderness. For the most part, though, this is just groovy, prime-cut stereofuckolades, the likes of which I want to believe stereo technology was invented for. 9/10 (Rupert Bottenberg)
Vienna's Richard Dorfmeister switches partners again, repeating the hookup with school pal Rupert Huber that led to Tosca's first, Opera. As the G-Stone imprint has come to indicate, the production on Suzuki is exquisite and the flow seamless, even if there's a certain Austrian frost permeating the proceedings. Dorfy's downtempo ooze and semi-conscious dub funk cradle Huber's shiny-eyed Floydian slips--apparently, there's some sorta Zen angle to the whole thing, but that's not anything you need to trouble yourself with. 7/10 (Rupert Bottenberg)