Nashville Pussy High As Hell (TVT/Universal)
Ian Astbury Spirit/Light/Speed (Beggar's Banquet)
The Cult Pure Cult: The Singles 1984-1995 (Beggar's Banquet)
Alice Cooper Brutal Planet (Spitfire/EMI)
Modest Mouse is a good name for one of today's only young rock bands to Having released two of the greatest rock records of all time (Killer and Love It to Death), the one-time innovator has become a major disappointing relic for the past 20 years by serving up crude imitations of himself (Clones, Hey Stupid). Brutal Planet is nue-metal riffage ripe with lyrics culled from too much CNN viewing. I bet you didn't see that one coming, huh! Even with the predictable musical window dressing, this avid golfer does manage to hit home with his trademark vicious irony, huge choruses and a raging vocal delivery. Alice has released one of his best records since Billion Dollar Babies but the econo-Marilyn Manson sound has gotta go, buddy. 6.5/10 (Johnson Cummins)
Grandaddy The Sophtware Slump (V2/BMG)
Slum Village Fantastic Vol. 2 (Goodvibe/Nice)
Del the Funky Homosapien Both Sides of the Brain (Heiro Imperium)
Suns of Arqa Cosmic Jugalbandi (Interchill/Outside)
Oval Ovalprocess (Thrill Jockey) An old trick helped me to finally appreciate this kind of intellectualized, minimalist post-techno: listen to it motherfucking LOUD. German Markus Popp's third album as Oval encourages you to not see this stuff as wallpaper for Ex-Centris (which it isn't), as it's his rockin'est to date, so to speak. The squelches are squelchier, the random noise bursts bigger--and surging in the background is an organ not so deconstructed that it doesn't approach... Popp? Oval's trademark CD-skip rhythm track has even spawned a sub-genre, as documented on the onomatopoeic Clicks + Cuts, a double disc that includes many of the heads here for the recent MUTEK fest (Pole, Panacea, Frank Bretschneider, Vladislav Delay, Sutekh, Jake Mandell, Kit Clayton). The first disc is fairly beat-driven, while the second slowly crashes in a denial-of-service attack on "music." Snap, crackle... Both 8/10 (Chris Yurkiw)
Akumu (Spider/Fusion III) Having trouble sleeping? Plagued by hideous nightmares or insomnia? Forget Nytol--try Akumu instead. A veritable galaxy of peaceful, weightless sleep awaits you. Toronto native Akumu's debut release on his own Spider label is an oddly soothing collection of deep-space-inspired ambient electronica that gave me shivers and made me think of 2001: A Space Odyssey. Like how it's kind of scary to think about just how much space is out there, but it looks really pretty and calm and you kind of want to go there. 8/10 (Krista)
Various Big Momma's House Soundtrack (Sony) One thing you can say about producer Jermain Dupri: he sure knows how to throw a party. On the soundtrack to the latest Martin Lawrence flick, Jermain gathers up the hip hop posse and throws down. He gets into it himself on the remix of the Da Brat track "That's What I'm Looking For," and then mixes it up with Nas and Monica on "I've Got To Have It" (which liberally samples from Peter Gabriel's "Sledgehammer"). No thinking required, this one's just about shaking your ass. 7/10 (Gerard Dee)
Tony Fruscella The Complete Works (Jazz Factory/Fusion III) A four-CD set, two live, two in the studio--39 tracks in all by a marvelous trumpeter whom it was my pleasure to hear with Gerry Mulligan at the first Newport Jazz Festival in 1954. He died a most unsung musician in 1969, age 42. His playing, described as poetic, is captured here in a number of settings with Stan Getz, Allen Eager, Brew Moore, Phil Woods, Red Mitchell and the lesser-known Chick Maures, Bill Triglia and Phil Urso. A fitting memorial to a musician's musician. 9.5/10 (Len Dobbin)
|
That's Elevator as in takin' yoo high-ya, shootin' straight up for the penthouse suite, not as in mildewed muzak that makes ground floor to seventh an eternity in hell. See, it's instrumental keyboard jazz-funk, and all good K-Mart shoppers know where that can go, but Jaffa's first is no James Last. These groove manoeuvres are sexy, shiny and right in the damn pocket. This largely-singular effort from Montreal math whiz/keyboard geek David Kakon marks the debut of Nude, the downtempo offshoot of local drum & bass label Dune, and it bodes well for them. Don't take my word for it though, ask Fila Brazilia and Herbaliser, who provide tack-on remixes of the title track. Another one from Masters at Work should be handy in a hot minute (personally, I'd like an extension of "Star 67" and its nasty little phone prank overdub). 9/10 (Rupert Bottenberg) Launch tonight, Thurs., June 22 at Jai Bar, 6-10pm
They give one of the best live shows around, but Nashville Pussy has always had a hard time squeezing that sweat-drenched frenzy onto tape. Sadly, High As Hell is no exception. Not that this isn't a gloriously raucous ride, because it is, just not a memorable one. Blaine Cartwright's junkyard dog vocals are still barking and Ruyter Suys' wicked lixx are still squealing, but the tempo is slowed down, southern boogie replacing the breakneck punk speed of their debut Let Them Eat Pussy. Cartwright's promise of "unbuckling the bible belt and sucking God's dick" thus far is unrealized, but unlike most of the limp new rock coming out, High As Hell is at least worthy to give the big guy a dry hump. 7.5/10 (Johnson Cummins)
Ian Astbury has seen better days, and the simultaneous release of these two discs makes this painfully clear. You can practically smell the vocals on the solo album, but nothing stinks up the place like the lyrics, tragically printed in the sleeve for all to see--how's "get high the real music hey yeah" for an endless refrain? All this over some bastardized rock-electronica, the sound of someone trying desperately to be contemporary. If there are any tunes here, it's probably by accident. The Cult, on the other hand, had the tunes. Inevitable, latter-day crap aside, all the classics are here, from the genuinely good ("Rain") to the '80s cheese rock you hate to love ("Love Removal Machine"). Ass-tbury 3/10, Cult 7/10 (Lorraine Carpenter)
Hey, I wasn't the only one suckered when this label pulled their Soul Ecstasy stunt (passing DJ Me DJ You off as composers of a lost blaxploitation score). They're not pretending with this one; their theoretical follow-up to the '70s camp SF flick Logan's Run is an honest fraud, "existing" only as far as a silly synopsis, some staged photos and a neato score from a couple of Cali prog-poppers known to fans of Jellyfish and Redd Kross. With action-packed sci-funk, Casio concourse-cruisers, laser phase-ins and enough galloping astral whoosh to keep Floyd fans comfortably numb, the pair and their friends have forged a pretty convincing argument for a green light on the real thing. 8/10 (Rupert Bottenberg)
After too many major label cave-ins, numerous bootlegs and enough hype to start the mother of all debut blah-blah, Detroit's Slum Village finally drop their already "classic" album Fantastic Vol. 2. Shining with the stellar production of Jay-Dee, MCs T3 and Baatin draw most of their lyrical charm from riding the music like a fairground attraction. Likeminded friends Q-Tip, D'Angelo, Pete Rock and Jazzy Jeff join in on some of the 19 tracks offered here. Look no further for some summer shit with the Tribe vibe. 9/10 (Scott C)
Fans of the Heiro originator and head man will love this record, which finds Del in self-produced heaven, waxing prolific about everything and nothing. Newcomers to the post-major label efforts of Oakland, CA's Heiro sandwich might not find Both Sides so inviting. This is an album it seems Del has taken years to arrive at, and unfortunately if you weren't already on this train of thought, good luck getting on now. Oh, yeah, in case you were wondering: the Heiroglyphics posse do make their mandatory collective appearance. 7/10 (Scott C)
For decades now, Michael Wadada and his shapeshifting unit Suns of Arqa have been at the bleed-together point of Jamaican dub tech, Indian classicism and frosty Euro-tronica (levels jimmied up and down accordingly with each release). Cosmic Jugalbandi marks their hooking up with Interchill, probably the Suns' highest-profile label to date, for a round of established ragas performed by some leading lights of the contemporary classical scene in India. The scintillating drone and melodic catchphrases are carried by Wadada's oozing reggae basslines, and then unintrusively dubbed out by Youth and Zion Train, making for music that crawls up your spine and nestles in the pleasure centre of your brain. 8/10 (Rupert Bottenberg) CD launch with live Indian jam at Lion d'Or on Sat., June 24