MUSIC REVIEWS

Arthur Buck, “Arthur Buck” (New West Records)

Former R.E.M. guitarist Peter Buck and often-experimental singer-songwriter Joseph Arthur have teamed up for an album that was written mostly in a few days after a chance encounter in Mexico and recorded nearly as quickly. Fresh and spontaneous, it’s also filled with precious sonic details, like little flashes sparking the songs.

Unsurprisingly, Buck’s layers of acoustic guitars and bright and brief solos provide numerous R.E.M. textures and the tunes bear plenty more traces of the 1985-1995 pop decade. Arthur’s role and contributions are just as significant. As he often does on his own albums, he plays most of the instruments, wrote the lyrics and sings the songs.

“American Century” sounds like “Pop Life”-era Prince, but sung by Axl Rose in his low register, while “If You Wake Up in Time” echoes the Talking Heads. David Bowie’s spirit infuses “Wide Awake in November” and the brief “Summertime” could be a David Sylvian/Robert Fripp interlude.

Opener “I Am The Moment” would have fit seamlessly on one of the last R.E.M. albums, while closer “Can’t Make It Without You,” with its haunting, dolphin’s cry-like faux string section, could be from “New Adventures in Hi-Fi.”

Lyrically—in line with the urgency of their creation— there is some topical material, like “American Century” and maybe “Wide Awake in November,” but the dominant mood seems to be about making the most of one’s opportunities amid our frazzled lives at hyperspeed.

Buck is a known and treasured commodity but if you’re not familiar with Arthur’s albums, search out gems like “The Family” and you’ll hear just how much he brings to the collaboration.—Pablo Gorondi, The Associated Press

Mike Shinoda, “Post Traumatic” (Warner Bros.)

“Post Traumatic” is the first album Mike Shinoda has released under his own name and it’s pretty obvious that this wasn’t the way he wanted to do it. It is a raw and painful tour through sorrow, created in the wake of the death of his Linkin Park partner Chester Bennington.

Bennington’s name is never mentioned on the 16-track album but his suicide last July looms over every song as Shinoda moves through a continuum from despair to anger to depression and detachment. It’s like listening to Elisabeth Kubler-Ross’ five stages of grief.

The album begins with the delicate “Place to Start,” where Shinoda wonders “Can I put the past behind me?” and then plays tender voicemails from friends reaching out after Bennington’s death.

“Over Again” aches, as Shinoda is “tackled by the grief at times I would least expect.” ”Watching As I Fall” is a portrait of a broken artist alienated from his fans. In “Nothing Makes Sense Anymore,” he’s “a shadow in the dark/trying to pull it back together.” He freezes in the spotlight in “About You.”

At this point, the dark, personal sadness is almost too much. But stay with it: After the neat instrumental “Brooding,” Shinoda emerges from the tears, feisty even. Until now, he’s been mostly singing. The rest of the album increasingly finds him rapping. It’s as if he’s recovering his voice.

Shinoda looks back to his old certainties and renegotiates them with “Promises I Can’t Keep.” On the standout track “Crossing a Line,” he broaches the idea of making his own music without his bandmates. (“I’ve found what I have been waiting for/But to get there means crossing a line.”)

He confesses many personal interactions now get awkward quickly in “Hold It Together” and that he’s haunted in “Ghosts.” He teams up with K. Flay on “Make It Up As I Go,” confessing he has no idea what he’s doing but, “I have to make my own lane.”

In the final stretch, the spacy “Lift Off” finds Shinoda recovering his swagger and demanding respect on “I.O.U.” He’s tired of biting his tongue on “Running from My Shadow” and celebrates a friend’s friendship on “World’s On Fire.”

“Post Traumatic” isn’t perfect—it sorely needs some more editing—but it’s a remarkably honest and intense record. On the album’s last cut, Shinoda is finally floating above it all: “I’m somewhere far away where you can’t bring me down.”

May he find his peace.— Mark Kennedy, The Associated Press

YOB, “Our Raw Heart” (Relapse Records)

It’s been a hell of a year so far for fans of doom metal, the Black Sabbath worshipping style favored for its ominous themes, crawling tempos and down-tuned guitars. Bay Area stoner titans Sleep released (on 4/20, of course) their first full-length album in 15 years, filling a headbanger vacuum that sent “The Sciences” improbably to the Top 10 of Billboard’s rock charts.

Now comes the return of underground heroes YOB, the Pacific Northwest trio able to swing effortlessly between menacing distortion and hushed reverie. Head YOB Mike Scheidt is back to full, howling strength after recovering from surgery for a debilitating intestinal disease. The brush with death has left him more reflective than usual on their eighth album, “Our Raw Heart,” and less concerned by perceived genre rules.

The crunching, repetitive riff that anchors “The Screen” is manna for metal purists. But on songs like the soaring title track and the 17-minute meditation “Beauty In Falling Leaves,” the heaviness comes not just from big guitars but from a creeping tension that bolsters Scheidt’s passionate and wide-ranging vocals. “All around you, the infinite,” he sings.

Five of the seven songs top 10 minutes in length, showcasing Scheidt’s skills as a composer and guitarist—and testing those listeners with short attention spans. Bassist Aaron Rieseberg and drummer Travis Foster are allowed the freedom to stretch out on ambitious and sprawling pieces that strive for transcendence.—Christopher Weber, The Associated Press