Githead - 'Art Pop'

Starting with the genre-defining masterpiece Pink Flag, released in December 1977, Wire has gone on to be one of the most influential punk/post-punk bands of all time. Successive albums like Chairs Missing, 154, and even the relatively recent 2003 release Send have all expanded the group’s propulsive sound, and they’re all essential listening for fans of punk in all its forms. But such brilliance comes at a cost, as Wire is well-known for taking long hiatuses every few albums. Send, however, does not mark the beginning of a vacation for Wire frontman Colin Newman. Rather, it marks a segue into his new project Githead, which also features Newman’s wife Malka Spigel (ex-Minimal Compact), Max Franken (also ex-Minimal Compact), and Robin Rimbaud (Scanner). Having already released an EP and a full-length in the four years since Wire’s third break, Githead returns yet again in 2007 with the masterfully made, and literally titled, Art Pop.

Given his legacy, it’s hard not to use Newman’s work with Wire as a lens for interpreting Githead. Luckily, this condition doesn’t really matter, as Githead is every bit as thrilling as Wire while remaining different enough to maintain its own identity. It’s as ambient as 154, but far more lush and supple sounding. It’s got some of the drugged out noise of Send, but it’s never as grinding. Where Send recalls elements of industrial, Art Pop recalls elements of shoegaze and indie rock. Finally, nearly 30 years since Pink Flag, Art Pop retains some nervous post-punk energy on tracks like “Drive By.”

The album opens with “On Your Own,” a track that hearkens back to the fuzz of My Bloody Valentine’s Isn’t Anything, albeit with far more discernible vocals. Wire has always been more about conjuring up moods and textures than linear storytelling, and the same could sort of be said for Githead. The vocals are an instrument for painting a feeling, but not necessarily describing that feeling lyrically. This description is a roundabout way of saying that sometimes Githead’s lyrics suck. So it goes. “On Your Own” is a gorgeously atmospheric starter regardless.

Newman leads most of the tracks on Art Pop, and each one is brilliant. His songwriting has become more fluid and less herky-jerky with age, but credit for that belongs just as much to his bandmates. Everyone in this group is quite essential to the overall sound.

Spigel serves up some tasty concoctions as well. The more acoustically driven “Lifeloops” allows the album to mellow out a bit more as Spigel expounds on the human race's more pathetic elements. “Jet Ear Game” finds her speaking through a digitized voice box. Her vocals are distorted beyond recognition here, but they complement the computer bleep-like guitar work.

Art Pop is arguably one of the best albums of 2007 yet. At times reminiscent of the smart pop of Peter Gabriel and the guitar swirls of My Bloody Valentine (oh yeah, and Wire. It sounds like Wire sometimes too, if you didn’t know), Githead is atmospherically blissful and sonically delicious and/or nutritious.

Minus the Bear/Portugal. The Man live April 8, 2008

Minus the Bear played yet another packed TLA show April 8, this time with fellow prog-rockers Portugal. The Man and new kids on the block Elk. The night was briskly paced—three bands in about three-and-a-half hours—but fun nonetheless. It got off to a ho-hum start with Elk, a band clearly influenced by mid-period Incubus. While not bad per say, the group’s songs certainly don’t top Morning View. Once Portugal. The Man took over, though, it was pure headbanging glory and positive vibes.

Frontman/guitarist John Gourley looked pretty gosh darn cool surrounded by thick smoke and red lights, and the set-up suited the hot grooves he and his band laid down. The band’s core trio was augmented by additional keyboard and auxiliary percussion players, and the sound was surprisingly clear, with each instrument's contribution vividly hitting the ears.

While it makes sense for Portugal. The Man and Minus the Bear to tour together, the two are as different as fire and ice. Where MtB’s live performances are strong but coldly efficient, Portugal. The Man gives off great sonic warmth. The group’s soulful vocals and ’60s garage rock guitars put the band in the pantheon of the best of classic rock, despite being, you know, a contemporary band. But man are these guys old school heavy—blues-influenced and powerful, Portugal. The Man put on the best performance of the night.

If I were to criticize ‘em, though, (which I’m about to. Check it) Portugal’s lengthy improvisations sometimes got a bit stale. While the guys have solid chops, their solos tend to be based around simple rhythms. While it’s cool hearing Gourley rock out, that simplistic waltz time beat the rest of the band is playing gets tedious. It’s a small complaint, though, because Portugal. The Man is still one groovy group with some tasty tunes.

By comparison, Minus the Bear’s live set felt flatter than Portugal. The Man’s. The band’s prog-surf rock still conjures up dance marathons live, but the feeling is noticeably less energetic. It’s technically sound, another way of saying “mechanical.”

Still, there’s no stopping tunes like “Dr. L’Ling” or “Burying Luck,” off of last year’s awesome Planet of Ice. The new material sounds great live. It was the older tracks, though, that left a better impression. While the Planet of Ice tunes were CD sound quality, the band has started tweaking their back catalogue for a live setting, providing new angles for old tunes. Some of these adjustments were small (“Thanks For the Killer Game of Crisco Twister” was only slightly different), but the band did serve up a great new version of Menos el Oso’s “Pachuca Sunrise.” Electronics wiz Alex Rose whipped out a beat similar to the Alias remix of “Pachuca Sunrise” from Interpretaciones Del Oso before drummer Erin Tate kicked things back into the umpteenth gear. One Planet of Ice track, “Ice Monster,” did get a new take, thanks to Portugal. The Man.

Two words: Drum circle.

Hearing two great bands jam out a quality tune in a lively manner suited the set well, and it would be nice to see Minus the Bear cut loose like this more often. I love wood blocks, bongos and big goofy grins, and these two bands served ‘em up with a side of mustache.

After a 70-minute-ish set and a quick three song encore, Minus the Bear bowed out to applause. It was a good night overall, but I can’t help but feel like they need to step up their live game if they’re going to hit up Philadelphia so frequently. As for Portugal. The Man … so good! Oh, and Elk. Yeah, you guys need to either break up or be less blatantly unoriginal.

New Found Glory - 'Hits'

2008: Perhaps due more to Geffen Records wanting to milk the band’s udders to powder than an actual abundance of hits, pop punkers New Found Glory now have a best-of, called simply Hits. Boasting two new tracks and 10 singles, the whole thing feels like a cheap cash-in on everyone’s part. The collection only covers the group’s major label years (a.k.a. the material Geffen has dibs on), which amounts to four records.

Opening song “Situations,” which was originally released through AbsolutePunk.net in 2007, was recorded around the same time as Coming Home, NFG’s awful, final Geffen disc. Despite the connection, though, the tune is better than anything the band released in 2006. A catchy summertime jam, it has that classic NFG sound, and yes, I know I’m getting old and possibly even senile when I can call anything NFG does “classic.”

2000: I’m a freshman in high school. I’m awkward and love Magic: the Gathering a lot. My favorite bands are Tool, Our Lady Peace and Tom Petty and The Heartbreakers. I’ve never been kissed and never been in love, but I think I’d like both. One day, I hear a 15-second snippet of “Hit or Miss (Waited Too Long)” and decide that I definitely would like both. At three and a half minutes long, “Hit or Miss” is the perfect mall-punk distillation of teenage heartache told through the ballet of the hardcore breakdown.

I hit up Amazon.com and, seeing that “Hit or Miss” is on two records, opt for the cheaper Nothing Gold Can Stay, an underrated lo-fi pop punk masterpiece. My cousin Mike will burn me the group’s self-titled record a few months later, one of six albums I will ever pirate in my life. I’ll buy it for real later, but for now I’m content to jump between the adolescent emotions and rambunctious energy of the two discs.

Later that year, the band will release a great second single, “Dressed to Kill.” Its video has Rachel Lee Cook in it, which is awesome.

2002: My sophomore year of high school has just ended, and I’m stoked on “My Friends Over You,” the lead single from NFG’s third album, Sticks and Stones. Maybe I’m getting older, but I have to admit that the lyrics are starting to sound dumb. I don’t have enough money to buy Sticks and Stones when it comes out, but my brother picks it up. I listen to his copy once and, heartbroken, never put it on again.

Formulaic and emotionally defunct, Sticks and Stones is the most disappointing album I will ever hear in my life. Follow-up single and power ballad “Head On Collision” further confirms that NFG will forever have live sets watered down with songs I don’t like or know the words to. Either way, I’ve been reading about this guy named Blake Schwarzenbach and his bands Jawbreaker and Jets to Brazil, and he sounds neat.

2004: I’m graduating high school and freaking out. I vow to spend as much time listening to punk music on New Jersey beaches as possible, something I will spend about half of my summer doing. NFG has an incredible new single out called “All Downhill From Here.” I’ve moved on to Bright Eyes for my sadness, Ben Kweller for my rocking and Against Me! for my anger, but something about the tune makes me nostalgic for my former favorite band.

My friend Konrad and I pop the band’s new record, Catalyst, into my car stereo while sitting in a Regal movie theater parking lot and are pleasantly blown the heck away. The disc is all over the place. “I Don’t Wanna Know” is a cheesy ballad complete with strings and belted vocals, but it’s kind of sweet too. “Failure’s Not Flattering (What’s Your Problem)” features prominent keyboard work from James Dewees of Get Up Kids/Reggie and The Full Effect, and it’s got some pep. After the homogeny of Sticks and Stones, I’m so energized by the relative musical diversification of Catalyst that I ignore the fact that I don’t relate to the lyrics at all.

2006: Junior year of college. My roommate Nick Elmer is streaming NFG’s latest album Coming Home online and he keeps alternating between laughing and cursing. Future singles “It’s Not Your Fault” and “Hold My Hand” are overproduced and lame. I originally think that the chorus to “It’s Not Your Fault” is “It’s not your fault/So please stop complaining now,” which seems harsh but also funny. Later, I’ll find out I’m wrong.

2008 (the not-so-distant future): NFG’s Hits concludes with “Constant Static,” a bonus track from the U.K. version of Catalyst, and it’s ho-hum. As a guy with a love/hate relationship with NFG, I find Hits to be an unnecessary cash grab. The album’s liner notes and “exclusive photos” feel hastily assembled; the notes actually have several grammatical errors. That said, it’s nice to get the singles from the group’s albums I skipped over—“Understatement” from Sticks and Stones is particularly great—and “Situations” is pretty good, even though I could have saved money by purchasing these songs on iTunes. Not only that, I’m probably better off putting on Nothing Gold Can Stay instead.

Counting Crows - 'Saturday Nights & Sunday Mornings'

“This is a list of what I should’ve been but I’m not” goes the first line of the chorus to “Cowboys,” one of 14 new songs on Counting Crows’ Saturday Nights & Sunday Mornings. It’s been nearly six years since the group’s last album, the somewhat directionless Hard Candy, and this line and its accompanying music are important because they assert the following: Frontman Adam Duritz is still really good at writing really depressing songs, Counting Crows are a great American rock band even though everyone thinks they’re sad bastards and Saturday Nights & Sunday Mornings is much better than a lot of people will probably give credit.

The Crows deserve recognition for taking a double-album concept (fun Saturdays and reflective, hung-over Sundays) and trimming it down to a single cohesive disc. Pixies producer Gil Norton handles the six “Saturday” songs, and he delivers a raw sound just like he did on 1996’s Recovering the Satellites. This first half captures the various emotions one can have when partying at night—euphoria, hedonism and, lest we forget that alcohol is a depressant, a whole lot of melancholy. Musically, this part makes for some good drinking tunes.

Bookends “1492” and “Cowboys” are manic anthems. “1492” is the sound of Duritz binge-drinking his way through an identity crisis. He knocks his own dreads in the song’s opening lines—“I’m a Russian Jew American /Impersonating African Jamaican”—before dissolving into a blur of drugs and clubs. Crazed and unstable, he calls himself both the king of everything and nothing. Coupled with the lyrics are some searing, crunching guitars, making the song loud enough to keep it from depressing the crap out of me.

“Cowboys” is just as frenzied, although this time Duritz goes from flailing for self-worth to defining himself through what he isn’t. Yet again, though, its guitar squalor saves the listener. Thank your local deity for the triple guitar shot of Dan Vickrey, David Immerglück and David Bryson. Charles Gillingham’s piano playing adds some nice twinkling texture as well.

It’s not all sad sackery though. Goofy blues romper “Los Angeles” is a fun little tune which Duritz penned with Ryan Adams and Dave Gibbs. “We gonna get drunk, find us some skinny girls and go streetwalking,” Duritz says at its end. Turns out he’s a fan of L.A., saying that it’s “a really good place to find yourself a taco.” Other tracks like “Sundays” and “Insignificant” have more of a dreamy pop vibe circa This Desert Life, while “Hanging Tree” is a straight up radio rocker: “They say ‘Good evening’/When they don’t know what to say” goes one memorable line from “Hanging Tree.” In a way, these first six songs are like Recovering the Satellites in miniature—Duritz flails around his dizzy life, trying to find a way to be comfortable with himself and other people (especially women).

The “Sunday” portion is much quieter by comparison. Produced by Brian Deck, perhaps best known for helming Modest Mouse’s The Moon and Antarctica, it’s pretty solid in its’ somber contemplation, and not nearly as awkward of a shift from the brazen first half as one might think. In fact, the two halves aren’t too dissimilar. “Anyone But You” and “Come Around” both favor the atmospheric pop heard earlier while closer “Come Around” and single “You Can’t Count on Me” are mid-energy rockers like “Hanging Tree.”

“On a Tuesday in Amsterdam Long Ago” is just as raw as “1492,” but for a completely different reason. Stripped to just piano and Duritz’s voice, there’s plenty of room for reflection and sadness. Duritz can get pretty verbose too, so it’s shocking when all he has left to say to an unnamed lost love is “Come back to me,” over and over. Simple, understated and effective.

But while I’m a total fanboy for Saturday Nights & Sunday Mornings, and Counting Crows in general, I have to point out flaws when they appear. Duritz is known for having certain lyrical images in his songs like lions, the color grey, angels and girls named Maria and Elizabeth. Some of those images come back on this record, but on “When I Dream of Michelangelo,” Duritz goes from drawing from his stylistic cache to ripping himself off. The title and its chorus come from the bridge to Recovering the Satellites’ “Angels of the Silences,” and it’s sad that Duritz has to recycle these lines. The album would have been fine at 13 tracks; I don’t know why the band chose to so blatantly plagiarize an older work.

Also detracting from the work are the moments when Duritz brings up historical figures like Christopher Columbus and Abraham Lincoln mid-song. Yes, the imagery is vivid, and it fills space. But it also interrupts his narrative without adding too much. And while we’re at it, “Los Angeles” is either really funny or really annoying, depending on your mood.

Minus one song and a few lines here and there, though, Saturday Nights & Sunday Mornings is a brilliant rock album, announcing a welcome return by Counting Crows. The band is in top form, and Duritz is still a master of emoting and scenery. He might not know who he is anymore, but I know who I am: a guy who’s going to fancy dance to this record.

Big D and The Kids Tables & DJ BC - 'Strictly Mixed and Mashed'

It’s important to have affirmations. For me, this includes buying things I know I hate but can’t remember why, such as Shamrock Shakes, new episodes of Scrubs and remix albums from bands I love—all three taste like failure mixed with mint and green dye. “I haven’t had this in five years,” I’ll think, “I wonder why?” That gosh dang encroaching my-heart-is-turning-to-mush sensation is why.

Boston’s Big D and The Kids Table, arguably the best ska band out there today, meanders every so often on their path towards horntastic righteousness. In between great ska records like Good Luck and Strictly Rude, the group has released more experimental material that ranges from the truly horrific (the ill-advised rap album Porch Life) to the just OK (the Halloween-ish Salem Girls EP). Their latest side project is Strictly Mixed and Mashed, a remix album by DJ BC.

BC’s credits include The Beastles, a Beastie Boys/Beatles mash-up that was actually kind of fun, even though the mere thought of its existence probably gives John O’Riordan night terrors. Over the course of 20 tracks, BC attempts to bring new dimensions to the D’s back catalogue. Working mostly with material from last year’s Strictly Rude, he does a decent job—it’s certainly one of the better remix albums I’ve ever heard, although it does get boring after a while. Besides, it’s still a remix album, so while some of these re-imaginings are neat, I’d still rather spin the original tunes.

That said, album opener “Dave’s Shiny New Rap” won a Boston Music Award, and it’s easy to see why—it’s fun, clam flammit. BC tends to work in extremes here; his remixes are either too faithful to the D’s original reggae vibe or too techno-y. But on “Daves Shiny New Rap,” he finds a middle ground, preserving the soulful horn section, while adding a more propulsive beat.

Other remixes get by on comedic value. Hearing the anti-bro anthem-cum-remix “Dem Kids Suck” is funny, although BC gives it a cool electronic groove. Surprise guest star and former president John F. Kennedy shows up on “Try Out Your JFK Voice,” and his samples enhance the political call to arms frontman David McWane spits. Wayne & Wax rhymes over “Oo Yah Dood” and “Big Snake Bite,” and he manages to carve his own hooks into the piece. His critiques of mainstream hip-hop are alternately humorous, insightful and catchy.

The same cannot be said for Rashorne Foster, who guests on “Salem Rastafari.” While the track isn’t reggaeton per say, it’s about as dumb. Rhyming “rastafari” with “rastafari” 40 times does not a rap make.

The glut of tracks saps BC’s creativity in spots as well. The chilled-out reggae groove of “Strictly Rude” doesn’t translate well, even though BC tries to maintain the original flow. Drenching McWane’s angry spit take of a vocal on “LAX RMX” in echo and techno kill the feeling altogether. The a capella “LAX” cut at the end of the disc is for budding splicers but a total throwaway track for everyone else. “Im Yrs Bawstin!!!1One!” constantly fluctuates between being humorous and annoying.

Strictly Mixed and Mashed isn’t without some gems, but the songs blend together after a while. As a D fan, I’m glad I own it, but, like any remix album, it doesn’t top the source material.

The B-52s - 'Funplex'

I may need to check the math on this one, but I’m pretty sure I ate fluffernutters every day of my life from grades two through six. The creamy peanut butter, delicious yet incredibly sticky marshmallow fluff and ho-hum white bread made for a tasty meal, the kind I could pretend was nourishing but probably wasn’t. Way too sticky, way too sugary after the first few bites and, thanks to my high school conversion to vegetarianism, way too out of the question. Damn horse hooves.

In a stretched out way, listening to The B-52s (note the new apostrophe-less name!) are my aural equivalent of a fluffernutter. At first, the band’s new record Funplex sounds like a tasty idea, and initial listens show that all the ingredients are still great. Female vocalists Kate Pierson and Cindy Wilson are the group’s smooth, protein-laden peanut butter, and it’s kind of crazy how these two sound just as lush together here as they did on 1979’s The B-52’s. These women can sing. Pierson turns 60 this month, but her pipes are in better form than some singers’ less than half her age, let alone her contemporaries.

Then, there’s the band’s other vocalist, marshmallow fluff equivalent Fred Schneider. Admittedly, his Sprechstimme style is just spoken word, but it’s still cool to hear him dishing out non-sequiters in his trademark sassy Southern voice. Lines like “Faster pussycat/Thrill!/Thrill!” and “There’s a rest stop/Let’s hit the G-spot” couldn’t possibly come from anyone other than him.

Finally, the white bread. A lot of critics exalt The B-52s’ mix of surf rock and new wave, but the group’s instrumental compositions, first by Ricky Wilson and later by Keith Strickland, didn’t catch up with the vocals until 1989’s Cosmic Thing. On Funxplex, Strickland keeps the group’s surf rock base, but goes towards more of a discothèque sound here. This is further enhanced by Steve Osborne’s ultra-shiny production.

But while most of the band’s classic elements are in place, The B-52s fall short on Funplex. Yeah, the vox are great, but there’s a limit to the fun to be had here, much like eating a sandwich stuffed with marshmallows. While Schneider’s random lyrics have their moments, like on the sex-crazed “Ultraviolet” or “Funplex,” he mostly gets tedious and repetitive, especially on “Eyes Wide Open.” I’m still not sure how I feel about the lines “I am an eroticist/I am a fully eroticized being/No more neuroses,” from “Deviant Ingredient,” but I’m fairly certain I’ve been traumatized.

As for Pierson and Wilson, it’s strange—they’ve got great pipes, but they seem underutilized compared to the soaring harmonies of Cosmic Thing cuts like “Roam,” “Love Shack” or “Junebug.” The chorus on “Hot Corner” is killer, though. As for Strickland’s compositions, the tunes start to blend together after the halfway point, as the ambient dance tracks start to pile up. None of it’s bad, but it isn’t particularly compelling either.

Factor in the lack of depth in the lyrics —it’s all sex, sex and tacos—and Funplex just doesn’t compare to what the B-52s did back when they still had an apostrophe. Even without putting the work in context, it still doesn’t stand up well. The hooks aren’t strong enough, the music isn’t driving enough and the words aren’t interesting enough, although Lord knows the group tries.

There’s hope to be found in Funplex, though. Not all of it is bad—“Pump” and “Hot Corner” are pretty fun. But more importantly, it’s just nice to hear these music vets back in the studio. It may be overproduced, but the record’s vocals are clearly real, meaning that The B-52s’ upcoming April 25 show at the Electric Factory should still be a thriller.

Kaki King - 'Dreaming of Revenge'

Arts and crafts are the gosh dang bomb diggity, and not just because of that whole “eating paste and crayons” thing. On her new record, Dreaming of Revenge, guitar virtuoso Kaki King not only serves up 11 tasty, mostly instrumental progressive indie pop tunes (12 if you’re rocking iTunes), she also provides a chance to make your very own “Dreaming of Revenge Mobile.” Based off of the weird symbols that hover over King as she sleeps on the album cover, record buyers and particularly hip kindergarteners can combine these cut-outs with a wire hanger for some truly boss artwork. Better still, King is hosting an art contest. The coolest mobile scores a prize of undetermined proportions.

Oh yeah, and the record comes with music, too.

Dreaming of Revenge continues the soft, ethereal turn King took on 2006’s …Until We Felt Red, although the occasional classic rock guitar tone creeps up here and there.

Also like on …Until We Felt Red, King sings on a few cuts on this great low key effort, and her gentle voice matches the compositions well. Her writing has gotten a lot tighter, allowing for some solid potential pop singles. “Life Being What It Is,” and “Pull Me Out Alive” in particular, have catchy choruses and infectious atmosphere. They’re not quite shoegaze or goth circa new wave, but they’ll certainly appeal to fans of both genres.

This tighter writing comes at a price, though, as King’s compositions, while fuller, are also less notably jaw-dropping than the frenetic percussive style she showed on first album Everybody Loves You. Moreover, she’s not that great of a lyricist. Not bad, just not life-changing. But, she occasionally returns to her old style on cuts like the string section-soaked “So Much For So Little” and album ender “2 O’Clock,” and really succeeds at synthesizing the two styles on opener “Bone Chaos in the Castle.”

King’s playing has gotten a lot more expressive lately, as heard on “Montreal.” A mournful aura hovers over Dreaming of Revenge, something her scarce lyrics hint at. That she would include “tears” among her impressive instrument list (guitars, drums, vocals, pedal steel, bass and synth) half-jokingly increases the vibe. But man is it a gorgeous kind of mobile-assisted sadness.

The Eels live March 28, 2008

Not to brag or anything, but I totally met Mark Everett—E to his friends—Friday night. His band The Eels (just E and buddy The Chet) played the Sanctuary at the First Unitarian Church March 28, and it was a great time. Now, when I say I “met” him, I don’t mean we shook hands. Or traded witty anecdotes about our prolific sexual adventures in Paris. Or hit up Wawa together. Or even made eye contact, now that I think about it. But after that night, I can say I know E like a friend.

The Eels came to town as part of their “Meet the Eels” tour, and the show lived up to the title. A low-budget, multimedia extravaganza set amongst stiff wooden pews, chandeliers and turquoise walls, the event kicked off with a screening of an award-winning episode of the BBC documentary series Parallel Worlds, Parallel Lives in which E appeared. His father, Hugh Everett III, just so happens to be the quantum physicist who proposed the concept of parallel universes.

The documentary follows E’s journey to meet some of his father’s colleagues, as well as disciples of his theory. E clearly still doesn’t know how to feel about the father he only mildly had, and he occasionally squirms underneath all the excitement people have towards him over a subject he barely comprehends. The episode is at times humorous, informative and touching. Oh, and mind-blowing. Alternate dimensions are very, very mind-blowing.

Parallel Worlds provided a great base for understanding E’s music, most of which deals with the deaths of his parents and sister. Now, my girlfriend is the real Eels fan; I was only a marginal listener until this night. But by the time E took to the stage, solo, grizzled and dressed like a gas station attendant, I felt like I had known him for years.

Even if he hadn’t screened Parallel Worlds, though, I still would have been drawn into E’s performance. His Virginia twang shines through his music, in his bluesy guitar playing and gruff-ish vocal delivery. Calling to mind Bruce Springsteen circa Nebraska more than he does ’90s alt-rock, E yelped and strummed his way into the crowd’s good graces with tunes like “My Beloved Monster” and “Flyswatter.”

The “Meet the Eels” theme was spelled out further for the crowd when a booming voice informed E that “this is your life.” He shrugged it off and played catchy tunes like “I Like Birds,” “Dirty Girl” and the always true piano ditty “It’s a Motherf-----.” Sideman and multi-instrumentalist The Chet accompanied on many tunes. The highlight of their partnership was when they switched positions on piano and drums mid-song during “Trouble With Dreams” without missing a note.

The Chet took the spotlight for two passages from E’s autobiography Things the Grandchildren Should Know. These readings offered two more brief glimpses into E’s life, specifically his first days trying to “make it” as a musician in California and the days following his sister’s suicide.

While most of the songs performed had a bluesy low key quality to them, the duo amped up the grunge on popular single “Novacaine for the Soul.” After two encores and an assertion of “You did good kid” from that mysterious booming voice, E and The Chet bowed out for good. There were no Missy Elliot covers (le sigh), but there were plenty of intimate good times. “Meet the Eels,” indeed.

Nine Inch Nails - 'Ghosts I-IV'

210 songs in eight years. That’s how many tunes Prince independently released on full-lengths and EPs after his mid-’90s split with Warner Bros. records, not counting the 18 that comprised the Arista-distributed Rave Un2 the Joy Fantastic. Now, I love Prince a lot. Purple Rain is one of the best records of all time. Sign o’ The Times, 1999 and 3121

are all up there too. But I can’t name a single Prince song off of any of his indie releases (not counting the seven “1999” remixes he put out for no particular reason). That’s because a huge heaping of those 210 songs suck. The guy’s a virtuoso for sure, but he also needs someone to smack him around and say no every once in a while.

It is to this extent that some sort of editor, like a record label—major or minor—is useful in the creation of art, and not just the distribution of it. “Hey, Prince,” the label could say, “Maybe releasing a record of prog-jazz songs that all start with the letter ‘X’ is a bad idea.” And the label would be right, and Prince never would have put out Xpectation.

The reason why I bring up Prince in this, a Nine Inch Nails review, is because I fear NIN mastermind Trent Reznor may be on the same path. Fresh off of his split with Interscope, and less than a year after the superb dancepocalypse Year Zero, Reznor has rushed out Ghosts I-IV, a 36-track collection of tepid instrumental audio experiments.

Previous NIN releases like The Fragile and Year Zero had brilliant instrumental industrial tracks—tunes so perfect in their aggression/depression that they didn’t need lyrical or vocal input. Listeners still get that here to some extent, like on the My Bloody Valentine-soaked shoegaze haze of “4 Ghosts I” or the weirdly bluegrassy grind of “14 Ghosts II.” Dresden Dolls drummer Brian Viglione lends percussion on bottles and scrap metal to “19 Ghosts III,” and the resulting sonic experiment is actually interesting, calling to mind the urban bustle of, say Geino Yamashirogumi.

Most of the tracks on Ghosts I-IV are pretty brief though—24 of the 36 songs are under three minutes long. This brevity often keeps ideas from fleshing out more. Besides, most of these cuts are homogenous blobs, indistinct background music that doesn’t do a whole lot. That Reznor wouldn’t bother giving these songs proper titles just adds to the half-baked nature of the collection.

As an opening statement of independence, Ghosts I-IV is a disheartening work. Bloated and directionless, it wastes listeners’ time and money (A lot of money, in fact. Ghosts I-IV has already netted Reznor about $1.5 million). Like Radiohead’s In Rainbows, buyers can purchase a variety of editions of the record. Ghosts I is available for free download, whereas a deluxe package including Ghosts I-IV in mp3, CD and vinyl formats is $300. More modest fans can pick up the CD/mp3 combo for $10, but be prepared to weep, and not because it’s the second coming of “Hurt.”

The Raveonettes - 'Lust Lust Lust'

Formed in 1984, Scottish group The Jesus and Mary Chain bridged the gap between new wave pop and dissonant guitar squalor with its first album, Psycho Candy. Formed in 2001, Dutch group The Raveonettes bridged the gap between JAMC and … well, that’s about it, really. It’s kind of blunt to call Raveonettes a Chain tribute band, but on the long-delayed-in-the-U.S. record Lust Lust Lust, it’s hard to say otherwise.

Not that The Raveonettes are bad. The group’s last album, Pretty in Black, was a wonderfully macabre take on ’50s surf rock. But on Lust Lust Lust, the duo of Sune Rose Wagner and Sharin Foo has reverted to a more JAMC-based sound with diminished results. Less catchy, enveloping or even attention-grabbing than Pretty in Black, Lust Lust Lust craps out halfway through its murky 47 minutes of disinterested dissonance.

The record isn’t completely devoid of entertainment or originality, though. Album opener “Aly, Walk With Me” has a fuzzed out cool that swaggers like whoa. It’s nearly five minutes long, but never feels like it. The rolling drum beat and reverb-laden guitar make the tune a propulsive one. The group’s distorted pop also shines on cuts like “Hallucinations” and “Dead Sound.” Avid fans who already purchased an import of the disc might want to hit up the U.S. version, as it boasts two bonus tracks— “My Heartbeat’s Dying,” which is only OK, and “Honey, I Never Had You,” which has a start-stop earnestness never fully realized on the album’s core.

Most of Lust Lust Lust’s guitars are shrouded in reverb, making the hi-fi recording clarity sound like lo-fi noise. Where bands like JAMC, Sonic Youth or My Bloody Valentine could bend guitar noise into music, The Raveonettes cannot. Often, the dissonance covers up empty arrangements and lackluster lyrics. The group isn’t doing anything interesting here, and therefore isn’t doing anything memorable either. A good deal of Lust Lust Lust is an uncompelling blur.

Even blatant attempts at singles, like the overly precocious “You Want the Candy,” lack character. Still, though, compared to The Jesus and Mary Chain’s own third disc, the massively disappointing rock retread Automatic, one could say The Raveonettes have gotten more out of the classic JAMC sound than its own creators.

The Gaslight Anthem - 'The Señor and The Queen'

Gravelly vocals, whiskey-soaked tunes that split the difference between punk rock and blues and songs about girls—these are a few of my favorite things. Less than a year after releasing its first full-length, Sink or Swim, The Gaslight Anthem has dropped an EP that compromises the three lovely qualities listed above. Perfect in conception and execution, The Gaslight Anthem’s The Señor and The Queen’s only flaw is that it’s too darned short.

The Señor and The Queen plays like a concept quick shot about a guy and his desired gal. Calling to mind the dark tales of Bruce Springsteen and The E Street Band circa Darkness on the Edge of Town just as much as it does the punk energy of Hot Water Music and The Loved Ones, The Gaslight Anthem has expertly crafted four tasty tunes.

Each song is arranged just right. The title track kicks off the disc; it’s a great start, but it doesn’t rock as hard or as sweetly as track three, “Say I Won’t (Recognize).” Regardless, when frontman Brian Fallon slips into the role of the señor, it’s classy and fun all the way. Bruce had Rosalita; Fallon has Maria, and she pops up throughout the disc. “Señor and The Queen” and “Say I Won’t” find Fallon trying to woo her out on the dance floor. “Come on out Maria and lose the tragic/Come on out Maria and we”ll show you some magic,” he assures her on “Say I Won’t.” “We’re having a party, everybody’s swinging/Tonight won’t you come down out of your tower/Don’t make me dance all night alone.” “Are you dying to move,” he asks her on the title track, “Or are you dying to be the one moved?” With gnarly guitars and throaty croon, I don’t know how any lady could turn him down.

Tracks two and four take a more somber approach. When not “swinging like the end of the world,” Fallon likes to get down in a different way. On “Wherefore Art Thou, Elvis?” he tells Maria “I never felt right and never fit in.” Yeah, he’s one of those James Dean bad types, but over drummer Benny Horrowitz’s post-punk dance beat, he sounds like an a-OK guy. Throw in a few “bop bop bop-bop-bah-dah-dah-dahs” for seasoning, and you’ve got a mighty fine number for you and your special someone.

The EP closes out with “Blue Jeans & White T-Shirts,” a track more in keeping with the softer indie rock of The Good Life or The Weakerthans. In fact, Fallon has an eye for detail like The Good Life’s mastermind Tim Kasher. Both are equally expressive in their vocals and words. The song’s great reveal is that Fallon calls every girl he meets “Maria,” which makes the EP a lot more depressing. Still, it’s hard not to find hope in this song’s closing lines—“Someday I’ll buy you that house on Cookman/Sleep on the beach if we ain’t got a ride.” Fallon sounds weary and quiet compared to his delivery on the other songs, but that makes it sweeter in its understatement.

I don’t know if Maria is a real person. I don’t know if Fallon’s nickname is “the Señor,” although it should be because that would be awesome. But I do know that, like Kasher or Springsteen, Fallon sings about losers, romantics and misfits quite well. The Gaslight Anthem has a heck of a lot of heart, and at least four delicious new tunes for 2008. A second full-length is in the works for SideOneDummy, and if The Señor and The Queen is any indication, it’s going to rock my soul and my bum to the max.

Flogging Molly - 'Float'

Hype is a bastard (the jerk kind, not the born-outside-of-wedlock kind). It almost instantly sets up an artist and his or her work for a fall by stoking unreasonably high expectations. Such was almost the case when I read the sticker attached to Float, the new record from Flogging Molly.

“Float is one of the most important records of this year, if not the decade,” it read. The source was Alternative Press, a music magazine with terrible cover stories (Hawthorne Heights? Paramore? You guys don’t even like those bands!) but generally right-on taste. Apprehensive, I popped in the disc after purchasing it from an independent record store (Yes, I love supporting artists, local businesses and parenthetical statements). To my elation, AP wasn’t bluffing about Float being awesome.

It dawned on me a few sentences ago, however, that by loving Float so gosh dang much, like it-will-probably-be-one-of-my-favorite-records-of-the-year much, that I will be adding to the hype machine.

So it goes.

Formed in California in 1997, Flogging Molly has been touring the world with Celtic rock tunes for over a decade. The group’s tunes are aggressive yet tuneful, folksy yet rocking. Think Irish pub music cranked up a few extra RPMs and decibels. The group’s energy was best captured on its first studio full-length, the Steve Albini-mixed Swagger. Not that follow-up efforts Drunken Lullabies and Within a Mile of Home were bad, mind you; they’re just as fun. They merely lack the raw output of that first shot.

The group’s fourth full-length, Float, still can’t top Swagger’s swagger, but it does up the tuneage. Rather than go for more abrasive punk-ish songs, frontman Dave King and his merry minstrels have concocted 11 ditties with more emphasis on the Celtic side, although there's still a fair bit of rock ‘n’ roll here.

The choruses are still strong throughout. “Requiem For a Dying Song” is a hell of a lot of fun to shout out. The pre-chorus of “Talk, don’t talk if you’ve nothing to say/Walk, don’t walk if your feet don’t know the way” is even catchier than the real chorus. Guitarist Dennis Casey adds some teeth to the tune, although it’s Bridget Regan’s fiddle and tin whistle that make it soar.

Indeed, Float is filled with pub-tastic songs like “Requiem For a Dying Song,” “(No More) Paddy’s Lament” and “You Won’t Make a Fool Out of Me.” Each one is great. Of course, having so many stompers in a row would get old, so Flogging Molly pepper Float with some slower Irish folk. The title track boasts another great fiddle line from Regan on the chorus, although the banjo buried in the mix is neat as well. Also interesting are the folksy “Us of Lesser Gods” and “Between a Man and a Woman.”

Float marks a rise in political awareness from Flogging Molly. While the social commentary is more often than not vague, the fervor with which King attacks his lyrics will hopefully inspire listeners to get active in their societies. At the very least, those of legal age can raise a pint with pride when exclaiming lines like “Hey now, stay proud,” from “Punch Drunk Grinning Soul.”

Despite a middling ending—closing cut “The Story So Far” redeems itself with a slurred sing-along but takes some time getting to where it needs to be—Float is a quality album from Flogging Molly. The record isn’t too surprising of a release from these Celtic rockers, but damn if it isn’t a lively one. Cohesive and thrilling, it might not be the most important record of the last 10 years, but it’s certainly one of the most fun.

Paint It Black - 'New Lexicon'

Senior slide-afflicted slackers would be well advised to turn to punk rocker, psychologist and generally cool dude Dr. Dan Yemin for inspiration. In addition to maintaining two practices in Ardmore and Paoli, he holds down gigs in three different bands. One band, Paint It Black, released its third album, New Lexicon, this month. In between New Lexicon and the group’s last album, Paradise, Yemin managed to put out eponymous efforts with his other projects, Lifetime and Armalite. What’s more, all four of these discs are awesome.

Compared to Lifetime and Armalite, Paint It Black is a straight ahead exercise in hardcore. While the group maintains some of Yemin’s punk-leaning tendencies, such as some zesty “whoas” here and there, for the most part, PIB is meant to grind bones and kick butts. Hardcore can get formulaic easily, so it's a testament to the band’s strength that its three albums all have their own identities.

Where CVA was a quick and hook-filled hardcore jam—thanks in part to guitarist/co-vocalist and Loved Ones frontman Dave Hause—and Paradise snapped ligaments like Slim Jims, New Lexicon aims for a more atmospheric vibe. That doesn’t mean the disc grinds less—it’s still a stool-kicker. However, the band tempers down the blistering bits with instrumental compositions from co-producer Oktopus from alt-rap group Dälek. For the most part, it works. Unlike, say, The Mars Volta circa Frances the Mute, Oktopus’ pieces never overwhelm the rock. Rather, they enhance it by adding a basis for comparison.

Yemin said in interviews prior to New Lexicon’s release that he was going for more of a Joy Division sound, which he doesn’t quite achieve here. There’s some synth underneath some of the tunes, and the lyrics do get pretty bleak, though, so it’s not like he’s totally off base. Album opener “The Ledge” boasts a catchy, moody bridge unlike anything the band has done before. The whole track is only a minute thirty, but it sounds so darn epic and uplifting despite being about rampant alcoholism.

Indeed, much of New Lexicon reads like a violent attempt at exorcism. “Four Deadly Venoms” argues for self-destruction, while “Past Tense, Future Perfect” denounces religion with lyrics like “God can’t touch us now; we’re out of his jurisdiction.” It’s dark but brilliant. A few tunes take a more positive slant, like “Check Yr Math,” a political rant worth checking out. “Talk minus action is still zero,” goes one memorable line.

The record marks several changes in Paint It Black’s style. It’s the first record with new drummer Jared Shavelson. While he doesn’t quite beat the skins as savagely as David Wagenshutz, he certainly does a great job. With production from Oktopus, the disc is certainly more experimental than anything the group has done before, although producer and punk icon J. Robbins keeps things clean but hardcore.

That said, some things will never change with Paint It Black or Yemin—the guys still know how to close an album. Like “Memorial Day” on Paradise or “Ostrichsized” on Lifetime’s Hello Bastards, “Shell Game Redux” is a zesty end to a tasty disc. Bearing a closer resemblance to Kid Dynamite than Paint It Black, it’s all about the “whoas.” Of course, this comparison doesn’t matter much, since I’m pitting greatness against greatness. Regardless, New Lexicon marks yet another triumph in hardcore writing from Yemin and crew.

The Mountain Goats - 'Heretic Pride'

For every person, there is one artist that consistently puts out incredible work that, regardless of content, synchs up with wherever that listener is in life. The artist and the audience are in perfect sync. For some, this might mean Tori Amos, Modest Mouse, Bob Dylan, Dashboard Confessional, Jay-Z and so on. For me, it’s John Darnielle of The Mountain Goats.

Over his career, he has given me songs that made me choose life (“This Year”), choose love (“Going to Georgia”) and choose obsessive music collecting (over a dozen albums, three rarities compilations and a gajillion EPs and demos). He is a master of lyricism, and the only guy who has penned both “The best thing about you standing in the doorway is it’s you/And you are standing in the doorway” and “G-- damn/The pirate’s life for me!” But on his new record Heretic Pride, Darnielle has brought me something else to choose.

I just want to rock, man.

On Heretic Pride, Darnielle has finally managed to unite the fury of his early work with the full studio/band experience of his more recent work for label 4 A.D., and the result is pretty gosh dang awesome. Lead single “Sax Rohmer #1” opens the disc, and it instantly kicks away the doom and/or gloom of previous album Get Lonely. Not only does the music feel as propulsive as those hissingly lo-fi days, but Darnielle has switched back to fictional storytelling after a two-album stint detailing life with, and the death of, his abusive stepfather on The Sunset Tree and Get Lonely.

“Sax Rohmer #1” finds Darnielle’s protagonist traveling through pulp fiction-y scenery, much in the style of the author from whom the song takes its title. Alliteration abounds in the verses, but what hits the song into listeners’ heads will be the chorus: “I am coming home to you/With my own blood in my mouth/I am coming home to you/If it’s the last thing that I do.” Darnielle shouts these lines beautifully. Superchunk drummer Jon Wurster further enhances the tune, and everyone he performs on, with bombast through and through.

On “Lovecraft in Brooklyn,” another rockin’ tune, Darnielle does something that he rarely does: He goes electric. Like a rare white elk that happens to symbolize riff rock, “Lovecraft in Brooklyn” slinks, stuns and gets mildly psychedelic. Erik Friedlander’s string section imitates feedback, which is really cool to hear, and Wurster kills it yet again. Other classy tunes in this vein include “In the Craters on the Moon” and album-ender “Michael Myers Resplendent.”

Of course, if Heretic Pride consisted of 13 tracks of orchestral indie rock, heavy on the rock, things might get a bit dull. Friedlander pops up again to perform everything on “San Bernadino,” a lush folk tune about a young unmarried couple giving birth in a cheap motel, and his interpretation of Darnielle’s composition is stunning. It’s input from people like Friedlander, Wurster, St. Vincent’s Annie Clark and others that make Heretic Pride’s songs feel so warm. The results of these collaborations are amazing.

Other softer standouts include “Autoclave,” which is perhaps the closest the Goats have come to Head on the Door-like pop perfection. The narrator imagines his heart to be like an autoclave, a sterilizing instrument. Science is pretty much witchcraft to me, so I’m just going to pretend it can destroy intangible concepts like love and happiness. “So Desperate,” an acoustic tune about two people in love when they shouldn’t be—Darnielle repeats “I felt so desperate in your arms” throughout—is a gut-puncher. “Marduk T-Shirt Men’s Room Incident” relates a dirty, most likely sexual, experience. “I let myself imagine she was you,” the character says before running water over his hands hotter than he can bear, so great is his shame.

There’s more to discuss about Heretic Pride, like the subtle wisps of Jamaican music in tunes like “New Zion” and “Sept 15, 1983,” or the Mountain Goats’ stance on sea monsters in “Tianchi Lake,” but I’ll let you find those joys yourself. One last topic of discussion: the title track. The best song on the album, “Heretic Pride” is of the “you better play this live for the rest of your career” caliber. A story about a heretic about to be executed for, ya know, heresy, the narrator finds joy in his situation, which leads to the best lines of the entire album—“I feel so proud to be alive/I feel so proud when the reckoning arrives.”

Darnielle is great at writing affirmations, and this song is one of them. “Heretic Pride” is just that—pride and ecstasy over never breaking under societal norms, always standing for what one believes in, finding meaning in death. Everything clicks on this track. The band is in perfect unison and Darnielle’s descriptions in the verses make the tale vivid and alive.

It’s kind of early to be making this call, but I reckon Heretic Pride is in the running for best album of 2008. Filled with polychromatic emotion and expert musicianship, the record, and its creator, has yet again run the gamut of the human condition. A return to form in feeling and lyrical direction, Heretic Pride is a gem in The Mountain Goats’ discography and underground music in general.

Foo Fighters live February 21, 2008

Uncle Granddad’s Midnight Hobo Train Track Magic Blues Whiskey (otherwise known as “The Drunk”) was in full effect at the Wachovia Spectrum Feb. 21. Foo Fighters, with tour support from System of a Down’s Serj Tankian and Against Me!, rocked the venue that night, although, prior to the Foo’s set, the real rocking was in the parking lot. I haven’t heard so many jarring renditions of “The Pretender” screech from car stereos and Eagles fans in my life. Loud and dumb seemed to be the mantra of the evening.

Against Me! opened the night at 8 p.m. with a brisk performance of last year’s rock gem, New Wave. While two of the singles from 2005’s Searching For a Former Clarity worked their way in, for the most part it was all major label tuneskis. It was kind of disheartening seeing the guys play to a less-than-half-full Spectrum. The distance between performer and audience was more profound than at previous AM! gigs, although bassist Andrew Seward and drummer Warren Oakes appeared to have fun even from my 300-level seats. There’s something about hearing tunes like “Up the Cuts” and “New Wave,” indictments against the mainstream, in such a setting that gave me pause. Rage, rage against the dying of the light, I suppose.

The Spectrum surpassed the half-full point by the time Tankian took to the stage. He had a solid band backing him, with his drummer proving to be particularly skillful, but ultimately, his solo show sounds like System of a Down without the hits. Tunes like “Sky is Over” and “Praise the Lord and Pass the Ammunition,” coupled with a seizure-inducing light show and nearly catatonic Tankian, got the crowd riled up but left me feeling ornery. The stuff that comes out of this guy’s mouth makes no sense—“When I look at your hair, it reminds me of the sun rays. When I look at your ass, it reminds me of Beethoven’s c---,” he said before playing, that’s right, "Beethoven’s C---.” Truly, Tankian raises mookery to a new level.

Once Foo Fighters came out on stage, though, all the pain of Tankian’s D-level political rants went away, at least for a little while. Opening with a one-two punch of “Let It Die” and “The Pretender,” from last year’s Echoes, Silence, Patience & Grace, the band appeared in top rocking form. The crowd loved it and so did I, so much so that I seriously considered picking up the group’s much-maligned new disk. By the time the band performed second single “Long Road to Ruin” during its encore, however, I realized maybe Collegian’s Max Orenstein wasn’t kidding about wanting to kill himself after reviewing Echoes last semester.

That aside, though, you have to admire any band that puts on a two hour set. Giving high-energy renditions of hits like “Times Like These” and “Breakout” early on, the group capitalized on the crowd’s glee. Frontman Dave Grohl was a flash of hair and teeth, shouting into his mic and tearing up and down the stage almost simultaneously. Plus, former member Pat Smear (he of Germs/Nirvana fame) was back in the fold, which was cool.

Admittedly, the set was padded out with lengthy throwaway conversations, such as Grohl’s diatribe against learning how to read sheet music. Granted, it prompted auxiliary percussionist Drew Hester to defend classical music training by busting out a sweet triangle solo, but the time could’ve been spent busting out classy jams like “February Stars” or “New Way Home.”

Another trick the band used to spread out the set involved lengthy soloing. It was cool when Grohl and lead guitarist Chris Shiflett engaged in a guitar duel. But when drummer Taylor Hawkins unleashed a drum solo in the middle of “This is a Call” so long that I forgot where I was and what I was doing, images of Grateful Dead popped into my head. That’s never a good thing, man. Also employed was a second stage at the opposite end of the Spectrum, where the group acoustically performed songs like “My Hero” and “Cold Day in the Sun.” A subdued version of “Everlong” was also played here.

Overall, the Foos kept the crowd stoked the entire night. The Echoes material might not stun much, but hearing “One by One” and “Big Me” live does. The highlight of the night was saved for the last song of the encore: “Best of You.” Arguably the best Foo single since “Everlong”—it might even be better—“Best of You” was dedicated to the Spectrum, which, rumor has it, might be torn down to make way for a new arena. At one point, Grohl stepped back from the mic, and thousands of voices from the sold-out crowd finished his vocals for him. It was a shining moment in the Spectrum’s history, and a fitting send-off.

Then everyone stumbled back to their cars. One irate/inebriated woman started screaming that she hoped the Spectrum would burn to the ground, which was awkward.

Michael Jackson - 'Thriller'

I’d like to present you with two truths, one personal and one universal. The personal: Michael Jackson’s Thriller was the first album I was ever obsessed with. The title track was the first song on the first mix tape I ever made back when I was maybe six or seven years old (The tape also featured the X-Men theme song, “Jeepers Creepers” from an old Porky Pig cartoon of the same name and the opening music from Spider-Man 2 for Game Boy). But as far as non-animated tunes went, "Thriller" was tops.

Now here’s the universal truth: There is a copy of Thriller in every household in the world. It could be on vinyl, cassette or CD. Like me, you could have taken your family’s copy with you to college. If your household doesn’t have a copy of Thriller, it is because A) Your family sold it in a yard sale for 15 cents, B) It’s hidden in your crawlspace/attic, forgotten or C) You were right all along; your parents are robots/aliens/both, and you should call the government.

With over 100 million copies sold worldwide, Thriller is the highest-selling record of all time, so I’m not totally off-base for asserting that everyone besides space cyborgs has it. To commemorate the album’s 25th anniversary, Epic has released three special editions. There’s a 16-track disc with covers by current pop stars like Black Eyed Peas and Kanye West, a deluxe 16-tracker with a book and an iTunes release with 35—count ’em—35 tracks, including three music videos and a clip of Jackson’s “Billie Jean” performance from Motown’s own 25th anniversary back in the ’80s. For the sake of this article, I bought the iTunes deluxe edition for $19.90.

Listening to Thriller’s original nine tracks is a true pop joy. The record sounds just as great as it did during my childhood and, I’m guessing, when it was released in 1982. Album opener “Wanna Be Startin’ Somethin’” is six minutes of pop, disco, R&B and world music merging into perfection. The grooving bass and guitar, the clinking hi-hat and, of course, Jackson’s trademark vocals fuse into a wonderfully funky effect that flows from the verse to the chorus. It gets even better when the song hits its true hook, the “ma ma se, ma ma sa, ma ma coo sa” outro.

Much of Thriller sounds the same today as then—Vincent Price’s rap on “Thriller” is still awesome, Paul McCartney’s duet with Jackson on “The Girl is Mine” is still incredibly cheesy (yet cute) and “Billie Jean” is still one of the best R&B singles of all time. Some of Thriller is quite surprising all these years later, though. “Beat It” is pretty flippin’ metal for a pop tune, thanks to Eddie Van Halen’s c-c-c-razy guitar solo.

So, yeah, in case you were wondering, Thriller is still awesome.

What isn’t awesome is the glut of bonus tracks. The covers are mostly crap. Peas’ mastermind will.i.am does an all right job reworking the instrumentals on “The Girl is Mine” with a sexier groove, but his rapping completely undoes the flow. His constant assertion that “She like the way I rock” is stupid. There’s no other word for it. “Wanna Be Startin’ Somethin’” is six minutes long, will.i.am’s “The Girl is Mine” is three minutes long, and somehow those lengths feel inverted when listening. Oh, and the less said about Fergie’s “Beat It 2008” and will.i.am’s “P.Y.T.,” the better.

The other covers are more decent. Akon’s take on “Wanna Be Startin’ Somethin’” can’t compare to the original, but his piano intro and stripped down melody at least make the song his own. Oddly enough, notorious egomaniac Kanye West stays the most faithful to his cut, a “Billie Jean” remix that adds a more hip-hop-based beat. While he removes most of the original arrangements, the vibe remains similar. Neither Akon nor West can compare to Jackson the composer, though, and these tunes sound noticeably emptier.

Aside from some sweet Price outtakes and Thriller’s music videos (Zombies! Yes!), the rest of the bonus material is of a one-and-done sort. There are seven different versions of “Billie Jean,” and while five are arguably good (although some would say you only need the single edit), no one needs to hear the 1981 demo or the “Underground Mix.” Nor do they need to hear the numerous interviews with Thriller producer Quincy Jones, who sounds like Bill Cosby with a mouthful of cotton balls. I respect his craft, but I don’t need to hear him sing Jackson’s melodies and tell directionless stories. It’s just awkward.

While E.T. cut “Someone in the Dark” and true rarities “For All Time” and “Carousel” might appeal to completionists, they are again not of pressing importance. The far superior “Human Nature” took the place of ballad “Carousel” on Thriller, and it’s obvious why—everything from the lyrics to the hooks are better. So overall, the bonus material isn’t too hot. Still, though, Thriller’s original nine songs and three music videos (Where's "The Girl is Mine?") make for a brilliant pop listening experience, and even some of those covers aren’t too heinous. Thank goodness for iTunes’ pick-and-choose option.

Dan Yemin screens 'Dr. Strangelove' February 7, 2008

Things you think of when you hear the name Dan Yemin: Lifetime, Kid Dynamite, Paint It Black, Armalite, Philadelphia, New Jersey. Things you don’t necessarily think about when you hear the name Dan Yemin but should: wicked smart psychologist with practices in Ardmore and Paoli, Pa. Engage him in political discussion and you will be met with a mix of warmth, emphasis and, above all else, one heck of a point or two.

TLA Video, with help from Philebrity.com and National Mechanics, has organized a new film series entitled the TLA Philebrity Screening Series. The premise: Philadelphia celebrities (or… philebrities!) present their favorite films at the National Mechanics bar on 22 S. 3rd St. So far, the series has included DJ/musician King Britt with The Wiz and Mayor Michael Nutter with, holy hey, Invincible. Last Thursday, Feb. 7, brought yet another combo—musician/psychologist Dr. Dan Yemin with Dr. Strangelove or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb.

Yemin has written brilliant punk/hardcore tunes for acts like Lifetime, Kid Dynamite, Paint It Black and Armalite, and Dr. Strangelove’s socio-political and comedic tones have surely influenced his writing. While Nutter’s love of Mark Wahlberg may be debated from here until 10 minutes from now, there’s no doubt Yemin digs on Stanley Kubrick’s comedic masterpiece. As the good doctor would say of the film he saw for the first time in 1984, “We finally saw a cultural artifact as concerned with World War II as we were.”

“Rarely has such grim subject matter (total nuclear destruction of the human race) been treated with such sharp wit and intelligence,” he told Philebrity.com. “Politics and slapstick might seem like an odd combination, but I think it makes total sense given the absurdity of the ‘peace through strength’ philosophy that prevailed during the arms race, and the paranoia that was so rampant during the Cold War.”

After introducing the film, Yemin took a front seat for the film. National Mechanics is definitely a cool bar, featuring albino dogs, a piano and, oh joy of joys, $2 Yuenglings. But it’s still a bar, which meant that the first 30 minutes or so of the screening were perforated with conversations and cries of “Peter Sellers!” and “Clockwork Orange!” from the crowd. Folks calmed down eventually, though, allowing Dr. Strangelove’s biting sarcasm to prevail.

Forty-four years after its release, what could I possibly say about Dr. Strangelove that hasn’t already been said? Well, it certainly holds up. Terrorism may have supplanted communism for top American threat, but the overlaps are many. There’s a particular exchange between the characters Gen. Jack D. Ripper and Group Capt. Lionel Mandrake that hit me with a wave of laughter and disgust all at once.

After asking Mandrake if he had ever heard what former French Prime Minister Georges Clemenceau said about war, Ripper explains, “He said war was too important to be left to the generals. When he said that, 50 years ago, he might have been right. But today, war is too important to be left to politicians. They have neither the time, the training nor the inclination for strategic thought.”

Given the Bush administration’s push to find excuses to invade Middle Eastern countries for no gosh dang reason lately, Ripper’s lines are much more darkly humorous because of how bitingly valid they’ve remained.

At the same time, though, the film is too hilarious to become depressing. I cannot think of another movie where the humor actually had to be watered down so the crew could finish filming, but that’s just what happened with star Peter Sellers in two of his three roles. He originally performed President Muffley with a cold, and the result was so funny that other actors couldn't finish their scenes. Same goes for the title character—pay attention to the final scene, you can see actor Peter Bull (as the Russian ambassador) crack up a couple of times over Sellers’ contortions and gyrations. Throw in the facts that actor Slim Pickens performed his role like a straight drama and ended up being funny and that George C. Scott is just plain awesome and you have one of the greatest comedies of all time.

After the film ended, Armalite came on over the bar’s stereo, which was kind of funny, and TLA representatives handed me a copy of TLA Raw, a pornography catalogue, which was kind of not funny. I don’t want to hear the word “gape” ever again. The next TLA Philebrity screening is Thursday, Feb. 21, 7:30 p.m. The film, The Harder They Come, will be presented by Y-Rock programmer and WXPN drive time DJ Jim McGuinn. Visit philebrity.com/tlascreeningseries for more details.

Joe Jackson - 'Rain'

Roughly five years after he returned to the punk/ska/pop hybrid that made him famous (and interesting) on pseudo-comeback record Volume 4, Joe Jackson has slipped back into the role of “boring old man” on new album Rain. Like Volume 4, it features the original Joe Jackson trio that turned out such great pop rock records as Look Sharp! and I’m the Man, allowing for some solid playing among the three members. But while bass player Graham Maby thoroughly explores the space afforded three-pieces and drummer Dave Houghton stays steady and assured, they can do little to liven up the dull arrangements Jackson has come up with on this new record.

Like Elvis Costello and even Ben Folds’ recent solo work, aging has sucked the force out of Jackson’s songwriting. Where ’70s tunes like “Got the Time” and “On Your Radio” had nervous energy and a raw punk-ish guitar edge, Rain is piano-based and, primarily, mellow. While a couple of tunes on the 10 track disc, like “Citizen Sane” and “King Pleasure Time,” carry an old style rock ‘n’ roll vibe, the overall feeling is dull. Some cuts, like “Solo (So Low),” refer back to the loser angst of hits like “Is She Really Going Out With Him?” and “One More Time,” but again, in a lackluster fashion.

By his own admission on the album’s accompanying drear-fest of a DVD, Jackson has always been a better composer than a lyricist, and this especially holds true on Rain. He whips out some brilliant piano parts on the jazzy “Uptown Train,” and the overall haunting pop of opener “Invisible Man” is quite catchy. But there’s no defending the verbal clunkers littering the disc—“You know I hate it when you talk this way/‘Cause you don’t listen to a word you say,” “If you want to live forever/Ask a doctor/Someone clever,” “We hear you, we see it/You do it like you wanna be it” and so on. The best/creepiest line goes to “Rush Across the Road,” a ditty about seeing a pretty girl on the other side of your average boulevard, avenue, street or coastal highway: “Maybe I should/Rush across the road/Leave my heavy load behind.” Dude, that is not in keeping with the spirit of the Affirmation.

Still, though, Rain isn’t completely lacking in entertainment value. It’s just very middling. Jackson’s 53-year-old voice has held up well and his piano skills are top notch even when accompanying such tripe as “Solo (So Low).” Same goes for the rest of the trio—I cannot emphasize how cool some of Maby’s bass lines sound underneath Jackson’s piano playing. Rain boasts some solid performing in the vein of Jackson’s Night and Day series; it’s just the writing that needs more effort.

The Loved Ones - 'Build & Burn'

“Three chords, yeah they're yours/We stole them from your bottom drawer” - The Nation of Ulysses, “Last Train to Cool”

The boon and bane of punk rock has always been its egalitarian work ethic. Anyone can do this style, as long as they’re honest, and even that’s more of a guideline than a rule. What this often means for the genre is a whole lot of repetitive bashing from most bands. But every so often an album comes out that slightly tweaks the formula. From these minimal changes comes a deliciously radical transformation. Philadelphia punk rock band The Loved Ones has done just that with their aptly titled second full-length, Build & Burn.

Overall, Build & Burn is very much in step with the band’s first album, Keep Your Heart. It’s bookended by the same stomping rhythms, steady power and straightforward lyrics. Sure, some cuts, like “3rd Shift” and “Louisiana” have more of a bluegrass/country/classic rock rhythm. There’s also more harmonizing in the hooks, demonstrated on the perfectly constructed opening track, “Pretty Good Year,” and the addition of second guitarist Dave Walsh allows the band to write more intricate arrangements. But for the most part, it’s still Fat Wreck punk at its best. Uncomplicated and ready to rock, Build & Burn is hopefully a signifier of the great punk to come in 2008.

Where the band truly tweaks its sound is in the middle of the record, though. The biggest sonic shift comes on track five, “Brittle Heart.” More acoustically driven, the song goes from catchy call-and-response verses to long “ohhhhs” in the chorus. It’s like a two-minute-and-39-second-long hook in the vein of Ted Leo or Billy Bragg, while maintaining the same Loved Ones vibe fans might expect. Dig that gnarly guitar during the chorus, too.

The other big surprise is the piano-driven center piece “Selfish Masquerade.” Mid-tempo, dramatic and chock full o’ crunchy guitar like “Selfish,” the similarly centrally placed track from Keep Your Heart, “Selfish Masquerade” runs a little long. But it’s still a solid tune.

Once the album hits track eight, “Louisiana,” Build & Burn starts to rein in its experimentation. With a dash of organ and an explosion of guitar, “Louisiana” strikes a balance between the punk rock Loved Ones have done before and the bluesy classic rock they have clearly been influenced by. When my 52-year-old Bruce-Springsteen-and-Billy-Joel-loving father said he dug this disc righteously (I’m paraphrasing), I knew the band had honored its older sources.

Fans not quite ready to embrace this change in direction (ya wusses) can find solace throughout the album as well. Build & Burn’s first four and last two tracks are closer to the band’s older material. Call it the “build” portion to the middle’s “burn.” “Pretty Good Year” keeps the “I and you” lyrical dynamic and chugging guitars of Hause's songwriting. “The Inquirer” is a good example of how the band writes—with plane crash imagery and indictments towards authority figures, it easily reads as a reaction piece against the Bush administration over everything that’s happened since 9/11. While it offers no solutions, and doesn’t need to be taken as an anti-Bush anthem, it’s still a call-to-arms, a piece for generating discussion and energy.

Build & Burn can be accepted three different ways. Some fans of the band’s older material will enjoy the disc’s first half and bemoan most of the second; while fans of Springsteen and the like might groove on tracks five through eight. Finally, there’s that third group—people like me—who will love this disc from beginning to end. At an ideal half-hour’s length, Build & Burn runs its course quickly and smoothly, begging for a repeat play before it’s even over. That the disc features production and back-up performances from members of The Bouncing Souls and World/Inferno Friendship Society is a tasty bonus.

Lemuria - 'The First Collection'

Buffalo, N.Y. indie rock act Lemuria is just about set to have a productive time in 2008. The band’s Asian Man debut, Get Better, comes out at the end of this month. The band will also be heading out on a label-sponsored tour with The Queers, Bomb the Music Industry!, Andrew Jackson Jihad and Kepi Ghoulie of Groovie Ghoulies fame. But before listeners join Lemuria in this pop-tastically wonderful future, they should check out the band’s past efforts with The First Collection. Gathering 17 cuts from splits and seven-inches, with a demo thrown in at the end, The First Collection is a solid overview of Lemuria. Granted, it’s not entirely representative of the band’s back catalogue (Where are the two songs from the The Ergs! split?), but there’s always room for The Second Collection.

The First Collection opens with the seven songs from Lemuria’s 2006 split with Kind of Like Spitting, Your Living Room’s All Over Me, and they’re arguably the strongest cuts on the disc. Opening with the jangly guitar, off-kilter drumming and organ of “Hours,” everything quickly snaps together in this minute pop ditty. The song is about how perfect everything feels when lying next to one’s lover right before he or she has to get up and start the day. The intimacy and sexuality of the lyrics are found throughout The First Collection, but “Hours” is perhaps the sweetest representation of this style. “We don’t kiss/We just lay there/You’ve got your nose in my hair/Hands on my hips/And you’re wondering/Am I ticklish?” go the opening lines, evoking a lovely image.

Other highlights from the split include “Bugbear,” about the mixed feelings of being separated from a siamese twin; “Keep Quiet,” about looking for love from unavailable people; and “Rough Draft.” Alternating between a punk and post-punk alternative vibe, these songs are catchy at one moment and grinding the next.

The next two tracks, “In a World of Ghosts…” and “Who Would Understand a Turtle?,” come from the band’s contribution to Art of the Underground’s Singles Series. Faster than the Living Room material, it’s equally fun. Also included are cuts from the New York vs New Jersey compilation and a split seven-inch with Frame. The Frame material is the weakest, if only because the production quality is noticeably worse compared to the rest of the disc. Elsewhere, though, strong music abides.

While frontwoman/guitarist Sheena Ozzella’s higher register carries most of the tunes with a layer of cuteness, drummer and primary songwriter (12 of this CD’s 18 tracks) Alexander Kerns is just as solid with deeper, almost bored delivery on tunes like “The Origamists Too” and “Sophomore.”

Closing out The First Collection is the four cuts from the band’s self-titled EP. Although “The Origamists” has a more jagged post-punk sound than what would come later, there’s still much to unify the material with the rest of the album. Take the lyrics; the sexual/sweet imagery prevails with lines like “Today we never put on our clothes/We tried to set a record,” although later the band reminds listeners that, “It might sound dirty/But it’s cleaning curiosity.” “Home for the Holidays” amps the searing guitar over Kerns’ disdain.

After a quick demo entitled “The Origamists II,” The First Collection bows out. At 44 minutes it’s a solid singles collection that won’t test new listeners’ patience, and there are plenty of hooks to be had. While the disc covers material written and released 2005-2006, 2008 might very well be Lemuria’s breakout year.