The bonus here: two Coles on one album. Having paid tribute to Ellington on 1998’s In Honor of Duke, the celebrated jazz pianist and his group (bassist Roland Guerin and drummer Jason Marsalis, younger brother of Wynton and Branford) pay homage to the music of Nat King Cole and Cole Porter. It makes for a dandy package, including tasty versions of such beloved chestnuts “Mona Lisa” and “I’ve Got You Under My Skin.”
That scene in High Fidelity, where Rob (John Cusak) hooks customers in his Championship Vinyl record shop by playing an album of trippy pop, has done wonders for this cool, unassuming Scottish quartet. On its second full-length disc, the once-obscure band delves deeper into dub, electronica and other dreamy soundscapes. While most of it has a sunny vibe, one tracks cleverly turns Harry Nilsson’s “One” into a nightmarish rap about “virtual reality.” Serious headphone music.
How to ensure your solo career doesn’t threaten the stability of your band? If you’re David Usher, you co-opt fellow Moist men Mark Makoway and Jeff Pearce to co-produce. Usher also wisely enlists rapper Snow and My Brilliant Beast singer Julia Galios and employs lush strings and operatic voices on the seductive “Black Black Heart.” The album’s best cut, the anthemic “Alone in the Universe,” may even become a bigger hit than Moist’s own singles. What then?
Since coming out in 1993, Etheridge’s music has been overshadowed by her lesbian lifestyle. Parenthood with partner Julie Cypher (and children sired by David Crosby) further fuelled a “lesbian chic” trend in the media. Cypher’s now a thing of the past and Etheridge’s latest album deals with heartbreak and hope. But the record is mired in the sort of romantic cliches and pop mediocrity of “I Want to Be in Love,” the album’s first single.
Following the Rankins’ breakup and John Morris’ tragic death, Jimmy resurfaces with an assured solo debut. Produced by Tim Thorney, who brought in singers Cassandra Vasik and Joel Feeney (Blue Rodeo’s Greg Keelor and sister Cookie Rankin also lend vocal support), the album places Jimmy squarely in the Canadian singer-songwriter tradition, with music more country than Celtic. In fact, perhaps in deference to John Morris, there’s not even a fiddle to be found.
A former member of Virgin Music Canada’s street team, which had him spreading the news about Canadian urban music, Thrust (a.k.a. Christopher France) is now the latest breakout act from T-dot’s burgeoning hip-hop community. Less overtly sexual than Choclair, Thrust goes in for the sort of spacey, groove-heavy hip hop heard on “The One & Only” and “This is For Sure.” And like Kardinal Offishall, he basks in his Caribbean heritage, bookending his debut album with two delightful “interludes” that are rich in dense Jamaican patois.
On his previous solo outing, 1999’s Rock Art and the X-Ray Style, the punk grandad caught critics off-guard with a surprisingly robust collection of ethnically laced rock. Unlike his Clash-mates, Strummer had graduated to sophisticated relevance without losing his streetwise roots. Here, his Joe-ness proves he’s still got something to say, from the spirited pacifist sing-a-long “Johnny Appleseed” to the roaring internationalist dub of the title track.
Although he has a sinister voice to match his porn-star appearance, the handlebar-moustachioed Tyler Connolly still manages to sound vulnerable on a few tracks, like the suicide ballad “Last Song.” But most of the numbers rock hard, as you’d expect from any band produced by Nickelback’s Chad Kroeger. And Connolly writes more story songs than your average riff-rock band, mining a motherlode of tales of soured relationships along the lines of “Nothing Could Come Between Us,” the bluesy first single.
Here’s a concept: a Nashville country artist who sings real songs with real emotion. Although she’s from Ocala, Florida, Elizabeth Cook has been embraced by Music City, becoming a regular on the Grand Ole Opry and landing a big-time record deal. This is progress. Cook can belt out sexually charged honky tonkers like “Demon” or croon classic weepers like “Don’t Bother Me.” And her only cover is a dramatic, Roy Orbison-style arrangement of Jessi Colter’s “I’m Not Lisa.” The real McCoy.
He’s been called a smart-aleck surrealist drunk on hip-hop. And after Midnite Vultures, it looked like pop’s slacker savant had become a funky daddy with a super-charged sex drive. But maybe Beck really just wants to be a singer-songwriter. While his latest album still scavenges pop’s landscape, it’s mostly a revisionist folk record that owes more to moody artists like Tim or Jeff Buckley than Moby or the Beastie Boys. But what results: “Lost Cause” and “Guess I’m Doing Fine” are simply superb, mellifluous songs.
