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REVIEWS OF CDS NOW IN STORES
The Cranberries Roses out of five A long layoff, one should be refreshed. One should be able to return to work with a renewed interest, an abundance of energy and a whole new focus. Perhaps that’s why the first new album from Irish pop act the Cranberries in over a decade is more baffling than truly disappointing, but more disappointing than truly successful.
Roses is just a middling effort from a band that, while never considered indispensable, still produced some great singles throughout the ’90s and at least sounded as if they were making an effort. Here? Well, it sounds like they’re going through the motions. And that begins right from the top of the fruit chain with head berry Dolores O’riordan, who sailed most of the band’s best moments with a voice that’s as powerful as it is pretty. For much of Jay Farrar, Will Johnson, Anders Parker and Yim Yames New Multitudes ½ out of Five Kudos to Jay Farrar for daring to follow his onetime Uncle Tupelo band mate Jeff Tweedy in paying tribute to Woody Guthrie, risking what are sure to be less-than-favourable comparisons to the towering Mermaid Avenue collaborations between Wilco and Billy Bragg. Alongside fellow alt-country songsmiths Will Johnson (Centro-matic), Anders Parker (Varnaline) and Yim Yames (a.k.a. Jim James of My Morning Jacket), Farrar employs a similar modus operandi to the Mermaid sessions by putting new music to orphan lyrics from Guthrie’s prodigious vaults. But while Wilco and Bragg’s musical wrapping stressed authenticity, often sounding like they sprang from Guthrie himself, New Multitudes Lyle Lovett Release Me
out of five Part of the charm of Lyle Lovett is that he rarely sounds like he’s breaking a sweat when coasting through various flavours of roots music. “Line of least resistance, lead me on,” sings country music’s savviest chameleon on a bouncy R&B run through Jesse Winchester’s Isn’t That So, just one of the tunes that fills this expertly wrought collection of cover songs. (There’s one lonely original).
Polished, joyful and occasionally poignant — check out his heartfelt phrasing on Eric Taylor’s Understand You or the mournful pull of Dress of Laces — Release Me nevertheless often has the feel of a throwaway album made to fulfil the final leg of a record contract.
Which is exactly what it is. Lovett and his crack band are clearly having fun with the songs of Townes
Sleigh Bells Reign of Terror
out of five She leaves her room, closes the door, grabs her lunch, school books, backpack, pats the dog, kisses her mom, walks out of the house, into the sunshine, in her cheer gear, face fresh, ponytailed, the neighbours smile, she walks past, the perfect picture of the girl next door. For a block. He’s waiting, front seat, roach lit, music loud, hair long and shirt ripped. She smiles. He drives, she changes, sweater off, fishnets on, eyeliner black and lips cherry red.
They park behind the field. He passes her a bottle. Turns the music up. The banging of metal, an anger of sound, the loudness of life. She drinks. Leaves a scarlet ring. She smokes. Leaves another. He leans over, kisses her hard on the mouth, touches her rough all over, she coos, she moans, she smiles and she sighs. the record, she’s merely present. Tracks such as the jangly Tomorrow, which sounds like a tribute to The Lilac Time, and the somewhat more immediate Show Me excepted, rarely has she sounded so lifeless, so ordinary. She breathes and elfins her way through the songs, rendering the material mired in its mere pleasantness, which, not surprisingly wears thin and leaves you looking for a spark, which never comes. The mood and tempo are that of a casual stroll, and one without a bounce in the step or that sense of renewal one would expect or hope after a long layoff. Maybe a permanent one is required.
— Mike Bell seems defiantly modern.
The quartet offers new folk strains that often soar into the orchestral, multi-harmony terrain of My Morning Jacket and Fleet Foxes. It’s less cohesive than the two Mermaid albums, but no less fascinating. With lyrics culled from Guthrie’s skid row experiences in California, there’s a certain dread that creeps into the proceedings, particularly on Johnson’s gruff V.D. City, Yames’s haunting My Revolutionary Mind and the guitar snarl that drives Parker’s Angel’s Blues.
— Eric Volmers Van Zandt, Chuck Berry and others, most of which they have perfected on stage over the years. The singer doesn’t even appear on opening track, the instrumental hoedown Garfield Blackberry Blossom, and he leaves plenty of room for guests k.d. lang (a soaring Release Me) and young American jazz singer Kat Edmonson (a playful Baby, It’s Cold Outside). It all sounds great. But given that this is his second album of covers in three years, let’s hope a new record contract will also mark the return of Lovett’s songwriting muse.
— Eric Volmers
On the field, the team practises, the squad cheers, the teachers frown at the girl gone bad. The lights are on when she returns. Face scrubbed, legs bare, books in arm and dinner on the table.
Normal chatter from a normal family in a normal home. Homework done, nightie on, curled in bed, dad knocks to say good night.
He kisses her cheek, pats her on the head, flicks the switch, closes the door. She smiles, puts the headphones on, turns the music loud, closes her eyes, and she dreams. Sweet dreams. Of the girl next door.
— Mike Bell