Sugar sugar

Candy-O - The Cars (1979)

Thanks to radio and MTV, the Cars are a band often better remembered for their long string of pop hits and quirky videos. Candy-O, however, serves as a reminder that this was a band also built to rock. Sure enough, there are pop hooks aplenty here to allure and bedazzle, but once the ignition is turned, Candy-O traverses terrain both honey smooth and rocky, masterfully fusing the bright and loopy with a subtly dark underscore.

The familiar "Let's Go", (88/100), is up there with "Start Me Up", from the Rolling Stones' Tattoo You (1981), and Chicago's "Introduction" from The Chicago Transit Authority (1969), as most appropriate songs to open an album with. The perpetual radio play over the years may result in exposure fatigue, but is also a testament to the song's captivating quality. Benjamin Orr delivers Ric Ocasek's lyrics with a confident gleam.

Ocasek handles most of the vocals himself on "Since I Held You", (82). Mostly a sugar high of a song, it is somewhat offset by a guitar recurrently declaring its edge. It's almost like a little hint as to what is going to happen when Elliot Easton lets loose on this album. "It's All I Can Do", (90), was another hit single. The guitar is ace once again but the song, a wistful yearning, is highlighted by the woo of Greg Hawkes keyboard on the chorus and synth strings on the last verse.

Sometimes when "Double Life", (87), starts, I think "Let's Go" is beginning again. Of course, the tempo is a little slower and after the first chord change at :05, it is clearly headed in another direction. The Cars are a great background vocals band. On this tune, as usual, they are simple but effective, adding aural depth as well as being fun to sing along with.

"Shoo Be Doo", (90), is a bridge between songs, beginning before "Double Life" even fades out. In its mere minute-and-a-half, the dark undertow hinted at in all previous Cars songs finally surfaces. Like a car spinning out of control, it entraps its listeners in synth echo nightmare before abruptly dumping them at the title track.

"Candy-O", (93), (http://www.mediafire.com/?hw2dvuxo8v3p49e), then, slams on the gas and accelerates the album. The Cars rock harder here than anywhere else, with Easton's guitar thrust into the driver's seat. At 1:17 begins eight seconds of absolutely molten guitar. The solo, like the song itself, could easily unfurl into an endless and beautiful oblivion, but its brevity ensures nothing extraneous and preserves a polished totality, fostering a thirst for more.

That being the case, even though listeners on vinyl get a much needed chance to catch their breath here, the flip to side two is usually not long in coming.

"Nightspots", (84), is another whirlwind track, beginning with a bubbly synth riff accentuated by laser-sharp guitar, and concluding with the unsettling robotic mantra, "It's just an automatic line." There is a malevolently mechanical feel to the song and a bombastic energy that becomes more apparent the longer the song goes. It really takes off at 1:17 and the instrumental bridge from 1:31 to 1:46 is outstanding.

Pop sensibilities come to the foreground in "You Can't Hold On Too Long", (83), and "Lust For Kicks", (76). "Hold" begins with a classic rock-n-roll kick, while an irresistible chorus and more nice guitar work as the song winds down keep it from a feckless fate. "Lust" writhes under a sugary synth riff, chronicling a star-crossed crush. The tempo drags a bit here, perhaps it's rush hour, but I always liked the line, "He's got his butane flicker, she's got it worse."

Fortunately, the energy resurges with "Got A Lot On My Head", (85). The keyboards are more effective here and there are plenty of cool noises in the background of the verses. The confessional chorus, "I've got a lot on my head, most of it's you", divulges the underlying obsession pervading this album's tracks. Candy-O only has this theme in common with much of rock and pop music in general. Of course, it's only obsession if it's unrequited. Otherwise, we can dress it up as inspiration or devotion.

The Cars sure know how to finish off an album. On their eponymous 1978 debut, "All Mixed Up" rocks seriously. Here, "Dangerous Type", (94), (http://www.mediafire.com/?upotr1bkuko7gq8), equals if not surpasses it. The chord progression on the chorus indeed produces an apprehensive impression, where each instrument converges in tight synthesis. The vocals are stirring, the guitars dense and the keys brisk. David Robinson's drums are spry and resolute, beating out fills while the song escalates to exquisite sonic coalition before sadly fading out.

Not on the album, "That's It" surfaced as the b-side to the "Let's Go" single and then again on Just What I Needed: The Cars Anthology. A simple song about "letting it all go", it's another track sharpened by Easton's guitar. Also on Anthology, a sparse and menacing early demo of "Nightspots" with different lyrics, and "Slipaway", an unreleased track from this era but sonically set in the 1950s.

After Candy-O, the Cars seemed to veer more in the pop direction. This album, though, rocks harder than a twenty-year old jawbreaker while deftly avoiding being stale.

Candy-O (album): 86/100.

When the bullet hits the bone

Under The Skin - Lindsey Buckingham (2006)

Perhaps one of rock's most underrated guitarists, Lindsey Buckingham dropped his first solo album in fourteen years with 2006's Under The Skin. Buckingham has often used his solo albums to showcase some of his quirkier or more ambitious musical ideas, not suitable for a pop chart juggernaut like Fleetwood Mac. On Under, he also gets to work his acoustic chops, creating an album somehow both enthusiastic and easy-going.

Pondering the strange dichotomy of a critically lauded but commercially unsuccessful solo career, Buckingham opens the album by reassuring himself it's "Not Too Late", (80/100). He does so poignantly, looking into the eyes of his children, with a more sobering awareness that it likely is. The rumination simmers over wavy, sparkly guitar and, while one would hope Buckingham's blues would be tempered by having also been in a hugely prosperous band and all, the longing resonates with anyone who has ever felt unseen or unheard at one time and/or another.

The pace picks up on the next number, "Show You How", (88). The stripped down feel of the album is embodied by this track, with its so slight instrumentation and whisper-like vocals drenched in Buckingham-trademark harmonic echo. "Resurrection will come" when whatever shadows lurk in the past stay there. The reverb-steeped wispy vocals of the title track, (84), also strive to chase away shadows and doubt. Speaking as one who has been there, the singer offers empathetic support and "I'll shepherd you" is a sound salve for spiritual unrest.

The ethereal "I Am Waiting", (86), is the first of two covers on the album. Originally appearing on the Rolling Stones' 1966 Aftermath, this song traverses the strenuous, rambling, labyrinthine terrain of "waiting for someone to come out of somewhere." The waiting seems to pay off, however, in a lively "It Was You", (85). Delirious back-up vocals celebrate the long-awaited arrival of real love. Buckingham drops the names of his three children in this song, in each case an indication of the past's insignificance.

"To Try For The Sun", (88), features the sound of a guitar having a seizure. Buckingham's spastic playing lends palpitating energy to the album's second cover, this one a Donovan tune from 1965's Fairytale.

Even melancholy sounds sunny on Buckingham's fretboard. In "Cast Away Dreams", (92), (http://www.mediafire.com/?l2h6p9166it2g6u), the singer bemoans leaving a situation he would rather not have. Realizing just how rarely anything turns out the way it was planned doesn't make it easier to accept, however. "Hearts will break," Buckingham writes, "with choices we must make," but even on those faithless days where regret rules, he is reminded the "sun will rise in your newborn eyes."

Still, in "Shut Us Down", (95), (http://www.mediafire.com/?61i17l6d9vn6kcl), the singer is possessed by the singular determination to not leave ever again. The intensity manifest in the frenzied vocals and finger-picking are the efforts of a man fighting nothing less than fate itself and builds to tenacious crescendo incited by raw and desperate emotion. There is an extended version on Elizabethtown: Music From The Motion Picture, (2005).

With its slick background harmonies, "Down On Rodeo", (86), sounds the most like Fleetwood Mac of anything on Under. Not too surprising then is the appearance on this song by the rhythm section of John McVie and Mick Fleetwood. Fleetwood also sticks around for the next track, "Someone's Gotta Change Your Mind", (90), but other than those cameos, Buckingham plays everything on this album himself. The sounds of children playing embellish this ardent tune along with brass orchestration.

Lastly, "Flying Down Juniper", (84), rides a flamenco-esque rhythm to the place where even the harshest realities of the past finally do not eclipse the hope for the future.

Only a liar goes through life with a smile fixed to his face; likewise, only a liar never smiles. Just as only a fool embraces pain; likewise, only a fool ignores it. Lindsey Buckingham executes a good balance Under The Skin, dealing gut-level with the messy blood and bone of life without neglecting its very vitality.

Under The Skin (album): 87/100.

Red side of the moon

Moon Blood - Fraction (1971)

If you're only going to release one album in your career, it might as well be emphatic. Out of the late-60s Los Angeles scene came Fraction and while they dropped only one vinyl testament to their existence, Moon Blood remains a hard rock legacy.

Many liken Fraction unto the Doors. Working in the same era and territory, there are certainly points of similarity, but it is perhaps too easy a comparison to draw and likely made primarily on vocalist Jim Beach's Morrisonesque delivery. A major disparity in sound comes with Fraction's lack of keyboards, and a particularity in subject matter with the book of Revelation.

One realizes Fraction is a guitar-driven band from the first rugged solo at 1:56 on the album opener, "Sanc-Divided", (85/100). Stabbing through the guitars, Beach's guttural growl ponders sacrifice as if a hippie Dietrich Bonhoeffer. Perhaps history itself answers the song's rumination: "wondering when the spirit moves me, if I will obey ... will you cast away your fame?"

"Come Out Of Her", (88), somehow only intensifies the shadows. In a word, this song is haunting. The vocals leer then let loose, the guitars slow burn with wah, while the bassline conjures Jack Bruce at his Cream murkiest. The lyrics, as on the album whole, are poetic, vivid words on a desolate landscape. When urged to "extend your thumbs and burn the darkness of her", I am more than ready to hitchhike out of Babylon.

The apocalyptic "Eye Of The Hurricane", (90), lives up to its title. The vocals rage above reverberating guitars and explosive drum fills as "fiery faces [send] judgment." Like any storm, there's a calm and peaceful middle section "in the brightness of His coming" before the swooping and swirling guitar carnage begins once again. Amidst the devastation, the will to overcome overrides defeat and, along with Sabbath-esque riffage, brings the song to a sensational conclusion.

"Sons Come To Birth", (88), gives listeners a chance to catch their breath, opening with a stripped back meditation on moving spirits, desert wanderings, grace and true freedom. It doesn't take long for the guitars to come out, though, with some beautiful subdued fretwork by Don Swanson.

Finally, Moon Blood culminates in "This Bird (Sky High)", (87). "This Bird" might be the best Doors song the Doors never wrote, complete with rambling groove and mandatory mid-song poetry recital, (an albeit brief one). The "Sky High" portion, (http://www.mediafire.com/?77vgalj6gcp1v9h), beginning around 4:40, is the sound of pure jubilation. While short on lyrics, the vigorous guitars convey the triumphant acclaim more energetically than mere words ever could.

Alas, despite evident distinction, it yet proves difficult to listen to Moon Blood without making allusion to the Doors. That being said, this album then must come from an alternate universe where Jim Morrison traded Ray Manzarek for God. Of course, as usual, the experience is most rewarding coming to it on its own terms and this album can certainly stand boldly by its own merits.

The 1999 Rockaway CD reissue adds three bonus tracks to the mix: "Prisms", which, with its soft reflection building to fuzzy climax and back again, would not have been out of place on the original album itself; the enigmatic "Dawning Light", which never quite seems to find itself harmonically; and the straightforward rocker, "Intercessor's Blues", which, while the hardest of the trio, is also the most roughly recorded and preserved.

Moon Blood (album): 87/100.

All the little birds on jaybird street

The Conference Of The Birds - Saddar Bazaar (1995)

If you ever wondered what a collaboration between Ravi Shankar and George Thorogood might sound like, The Conference Of The Birds presents a likely demonstration. Neither of those luminaries of their respective genres are present here, but the Bristol-based quartet Saddar Bazaar crafts their sound around a raga drone augmented with sweet slide guitar.

The result is a tranquil, soothing elixir to a hard day's turbulence named after a 12th-century Persian poem written by Farid ud-Din Attar. The poem relays the tale of a number of birds as they search for a king and is an allegory of the journey to enlightenment.

The unhurried odyssey of the completely instrumental album begins minus the slide in "Sukoon", (90/100), which is an Urdu word for relief or relaxation. The tempo is set for serenity with the sitar taking the driver's seat in confident control. If this album indeed renders a meeting of birds, perhaps this song is the cordial arrival of a majestic heron to the proceedings.

In "Arc Of Ascent (Part One)", (93), (http://www.mediafire.com/?867952afsrywi6x), a sparse intro is halted by the sovereign announcement of fuzzy guitar at :53. Seventeen seconds later, as percussion enters, the song takes full flight with a riff richly drenched in Blind Willie Johnson's "Jesus Make Up My Dying Bed", a traditional blues later covered by the likes of John Sebastian as "Well, Well, Well" (on The Four Of Us, 1971) and Led Zeppelin as "In My Time Of Dying" (on Physical Graffiti, 1975). (Bob Dylan also presented his take on "In My Time Of Dyin'" on his eponymous 1962 debut). The melting slide on "Ascent" fuses seamlessly with the buzz of Eastern instrumentation. If the eagle is the king of the birds, then this is its soaring theme.

The sparkly chiming of "Kiff Riff", (88), would also suit a graceful flight, though this one more easy-going, perhaps in the days before having to worry about being sucked into a jet engine. The restrained guitar perfectly underlies the gliding, the overall beauty of the piece delicate like a dove, but as bright as the unveiling of a peacock.

The mood in the "Garden Of Essence", (93), is slightly cautious, as if under the watchful glare of lurking falcons. Even so, the tone remains hypnotic as the guitar stretches out, picking up the pace by 4:30 and coming as close as this album gets to a full-out rock assault for its remaining three-and-a-half minutes.

"Sukoon (Reflection)", (85), reprises a brief segment of the album's first track backwards. Somehow the strange and wonderful sounds produced are as calming as those in the straightforward take. "Shamsa (Sunburst)", (88), is mellow and blithe, perhaps watching the gentle rising of the sun through the eyes of a swan, or perhaps watching the gentle rising of a swan through the eyes of the sun. By 2:10, the beauty of both are on full display.

The rhythms of "Baraka", (74), feel more western and the production more modern than anything else on the album. Basically percussion and Jew's Harp, it feels somewhat out of place and time on Conference, as if someone invited a penguin to the launching pad.

"Arc Of Ascent (Part Two)", (90), revives the earlier riff, taking it to its frenzied conclusion. The slide's wingspan here is stretched to farther reaches, with swirling keyboards to boot. The resurrection of the musical theme brings to mind the mythical phoenix rousing once again, even as chords and progressions are rephrased and renewed across time and cultures.

"Freedom Rider", (88), rolls on a big bass beat and the album's best slide through a frantic chorus. Sitar and keyboard dominate the verses like drooling vultures circling what will be their next meal.

Then, with the embrace of a lullaby, "Neelum Blue", (92), (http://www.mediafire.com/?eyv05y17aqru85e), softly entices the album to a satisfying close. The gradual descent settles effortlessly, unruffled like an accomplished owl reconciled to its experience.

Like Johnny Cash on Trent Reznor, some things work surprisingly well together. Saddar Bazaar's fusion of traditional Eastern and Western musical styles belongs in the category of pleasant revelations. Remarkably subtle even in its more animated moments, Conference transcends its nest to traverse an undiscovered sky.

The Conference Of The Birds (album): 88/100.

Let me whisper in your ear

Keep It Like A Secret - Built To Spill (1999)

If you took about a thousand guitars, melted them all down together into a bubbling mess and funneled the resulting sound out through a variety of effects pedals, you might have something resembling the amazing Doug Martsch and his band, Built To Spill.

This was the first BTS album I came across. Never even having heard of the band, it was a random impulse buy thanks to Amazon's usually annoying "Customers Who Bought This Item Also Bought" feature. I had never used it before, nor have I since, but for whatever reason, I threw Keep It Like A Secret into the shopping cart.

The rub is that while I cannot even remember what inconsequential rubbish was my actual purchase, Secret immediately became one of my favourite albums ever. Scuffing and scratching from frequent listening necessitated the CDs repurchase three years later and then a third time when it was reissued on vinyl in 2007.

As a typical BTS song, "The Plan", (88/100), has guitars to spare. At any given moment, they can be scratchy, squealing or smooth, or all of the above all at once. Riffs come and go with insatiable frequency and yet with no alarm. The next is always ready to casually pick up where the previous left off. All is fused seamlessly in some brilliant sonic mosaic, crowned with existentially aloof lyrics.

The guitar gluttony continues on "Center Of The Universe", (92). The short, bright song springs along a catchy riff and airy melody, while pondering the struggle inherent in the compulsion for communication. "I don't like this air," he sings, "but that doesn't mean I'll stop breathing it." Vitality, as much as circumstance, dictates action.

"Carry The Zero", (100), (http://www.mediafire.com/?myhv7lvf4f0ljp5), starts off strong and incredibly builds up to two separate climaxes. Maintaining the jaunty feel of the preceding song, "Zero" spontaneously generates a fresh, impulsive momentum that will not be contained. It explodes into inevitable frenzy at 3:59 and finally into well-deserved elation at 4:38.

It is followed by "Sidewalk", (88), on both Secret and the Carry The Zero EP (released the same year). The sounds tweaked and teased from guitars here are sharp and spry, giving this tune a dynamic energy. "Bad Light", (93), deftly runs the sheen through a much harsher blender without diminishing it. There's a soothing backwards guitar among the hard edges where even "all that sun (which) makes so much shine" is "so hard to see in bad light."

If time is a river, as the Alan Parsons Project (among other prominent physicists) postulates, then the opening of "Time Trap", (95), might be the perfect accompaniment for a sail downstream. The first fifty lazy seconds fashion an enchanting, magnetic pull, while fuzzy guitar fades in from subtle undertow to full-blown vertiginous tempest around 1:06, all the more enticing in its excitement. Then, like arriving in a different era, the song completely changes at 2:03, ushering in a choppy beat and reverberation. As five minutes fly by in what feels like one or two, listeners can empathize, "Guess that's all fair now because guess that's all there ever was."

Perhaps "Else", (94), (http://www.mediafire.com/?hp4zxra14cw2zmd), could be described as the album's 'ballad'. The guitars are still out in complete adornment, but the pace of this song feels more laid back. There is an ethereal quality to this tune, with its casual and spiralling high-pitched guitar wails building to crescendo and the best use of high hat since "Stayin' Alive".

With "You Were Right", (92), emerges a rock beast. Everything just feels big about this song. The main riff and each bass note are devastating like the plodding march of a T-Rex. The lead guitar cries like a pterodactyl. Each insane drum beat detonates like a firecracker and the lyrics are a shout out to the classic rock pantheon. It begins with, "You were right when you said all that glitters isn't gold" and goes from there. (Oddly, Blue Oyster Cult's "Godzilla" is nowhere to be found).

"Temporarily Blind", (93), is another quick-tempo axe-masher comprised of at least four distinct and equally absorbing sections. Communication breakdown rears its common head once again as "they might let you say it but it would take all day to explain it" effectively signals the song's culmination in jumbled vocals and a molten wah riff.

Wah then begins and takes a prominent position on "Broken Chairs", (94). The music has a bombarding thrust similar to "You Were Right" and the enigmatic lyrics are co-written by Black Uhuru. Even a whistling happy bridge can't temper some seriously livid guitar and an extended raging coda brings the spirited album to a close.

The 2007 vinyl reissue also includes a bonus track, "Forget Remember When", which first appeared as the b-side to the 1999 City Slang "Center Of The Universe" single. This moody song also graced the Carry The Zero EP and the vinyl issue of Live (2000).

Since Secret, I have purchased all BTS albums and have tracked down many of their rarities. The run from Perfect From Now On (1997) through You In Reverse (2006) is an electric journey along a fantastic fretboard well worth the price of admission. I suspect with enough time, each will be represented here on this blog.

Despite the advice explicit in its title, this album is too good to reserve in hushed tones.

Keep It Like A Secret (album): 93/100.

Said the joker to the thief

"Love And Theft" - Bob Dylan (2001)

It would be hard to call "Love And Theft" a career zenith for an artist with such albums as Highway 61 Revisited (1965) and Blood On The Tracks (1975) on his resume, but it remains a favourite of mine since picking it up on the day it was released, the rather horrific September 11, 2001.

This album is a lyrical delight, with Dylan bursting in poetic bloom. He pulls off line after line in substantial stanzas full of astounding epigrams, witty couplets, even a knock-knock joke. This is all done with a wink and a nod to Junichi Saga's 1991 Confessions Of A Yakuza (via John Bester translation). In the realms of folk and blues music that Dylan has bookended his career in, borrowing and appropriating have always been accepted means of preserving and even furthering the traditions. If one would even deem it "theft", then, it is certainly done out of "love".

A rapid bongo rhythm fades the album in, accompanied by the shrieks of an antique-sounding guitar and the quick jive of a perfectly junky old organ. "Tweedle Dee & Tweedle Dum", (93/100), are Dylan's most obnoxious pair of scoundrels since "Tweeter And The Monkey Man", and their wild antics take them from "happy harmony" to an uncertain end. The lead guitar engages in majestic swirling runs while the rhythm guitar sets down a riff like a rugged spine. The narrator proposes that "a childish dream is a deathless need."

There may be "only one thing I did wrong," but the song "Mississippi", (100), (http://www.mediafire.com/?ccfdefrh3wp2oso), is certainly not it. This song is not in a hurry. It takes a leisurely albeit lonely stroll through a life filled with a little sunshine and a lot of struggle. While "walkin' through the leaves falling from the trees, feelin' like a stranger nobody sees," some regret is expressed, but no bitterness harboured: "My heart is not weary, it's light and it's free, I've got nothin' but affection for all those who've sailed with me". Every line is ripe with folksy acumen and the journey must continue. As the song says, "everybody got to move somewhere."

"Summer Days", (90), picks up the swing, offering a perfect tune for a cool autumn evening. While the mood set by the music and wild wedding party imagery is lighter, the song is still sung by one whose "back has been to the wall for so long, it seems like it's stuck". Perhaps the lively nature of this blues is the spark one needs to make a break from their heartbroken past or from the rut that life can so easily fall into. When told, "'You can't repeat the past', I say 'You can't? What do you mean, you can't? Of course you can.'" As a result, the escape will be spectacular. "I'm leavin' in the morning," he promises, severing all ties to yesterday by "break(ing) in the roof" and "set(ting) fire to the place."

This is followed by "Bye And Bye", (82), the first of two crooned ballads that "Love And Theft" contains. It's a short slow roller, a sincere tribute to the kind of dreamy, dancing love as imagined by a smoky Hollywood romance from the late 1920s or early 30s. Highlighted by laid back organ frills, the singer is wise, "watchin' the roads ... (and) studying the dust."

That gentle scene is shattered by the boistrous energy of "Lonesome Day Blues," (94), (http://www.mediafire.com/?s5w8762i12bwq9o). These are some big blues, sonically speaking, striking with the ferocity of some serious tremors. The band plays lavishly and the song is delivered from the perspective of one brought to complete isolation by death, abandonment and a lifetime of disappointment. "I tell myself something's comin'," he says, "but it never does."

Meanwhile, "Floater (Too Much To Ask)", (90), has the feeling of a lazy spring day. The ethereal quality is amplified by a breezy intermittent violin. The images come fast and furious, though, in this song, which borrows the most from Yakuza. Solitude again makes its lack of presence felt as "I keep listenin' for footsteps but I ain't ever hearing any." It reminds listeners that indeed "times are hard everywhere."

"High Water (For Charley Patton)", (96), is certainly not the first time Dylan has emulated one of his blues heroes and its aims are as authentically executed as ever, right down to the broom dusting. (Patton's "High Water Everywhere, Part 1" can be heard here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=336dDZsU1Eg). The machine-gun banjo, gasping accordian, background moans and epic drum rolls give Dylan's "High Water" an urgency appropriate of foreboding disaster.

"Moonlight", (83), is the second ballad, notable as much for its beautiful nature imagery as for the anachronistic fact that it would not appear at all out of place in Nat Cole's songbook. Love blossoms amongst tranquil orchids, cypress trees and twisted oaks.

The pace picks up once again on "Honest With Me", (93), courtesy a twitchy organ, a heavy beat and an intensified guitar note repeatedly bent to the point of breaking. Dylan also bends the language. The prevalence of puns here and over the course of the entire album showcases a sense of humour too often absent from like subject matter. Then again, sometimes things are so bleak, all one can do is laugh, simply because laughing beats the alternative. Just one standout line from this song: "You say my eyes are pretty and my smile is nice, well, I'll sell it to you at a reduced price."

"Po' Boy", (92), presents the misadventures of a hard-luck hero. Its melancholy theme is again juxtaposed with slapstick writing. I appreciate the appearance of Othello and Desdemona here much more than that of Romeo and Juliet in "Floater", due to the ubiquity of the latter pair. Both, however, match the tragic mood of a song about someone who just can't win.

Next, "Cry A While", (93), takes some jabs, both lyrically and instrumentally, seeking emotional retribution from a relationship gone bad. The bumpy road of the narrator's life is manifest in the music which jerks and rattles along like a jalopy. Whether battling tears "on the fringes of the night", in a church pew or in a courtroom, it seems there are many to be shed all around.

Finally, "Sugar Baby", (93), is the latest Dylan kiss-off in the grand tradition of "Idiot Wind". The impassioned bitterness of that diatribe is replaced with a disgusted but stoic indifference here. The sense of humour demonstrated in previous songs on "Love And Theft" has dissipated and a dusky, reflective tone is left in its wake. In a similar ghostly atmosphere as the one evoked on much of Dylan's previous album, 1997's Time Out Of Mind, wisdom gleaned from a lifetime of experience is dispensed soberly and sullenly. The dispenser knows tribulation and "can see what everybody in the world is up against."

The limited edition of "Love And Theft" features a second disc with two bonus tracks. "I Was Young When I Left Home" is an early Dylan demo from 1961, and an alternate take of "The Times They Are A-Changin'" from 1963 is also included. Both will have appeal for the Dylan fanatic, perhaps not so much so for the casual listener.

This album finds itself inexorably rooted in the past that sometimes haunts it. Dropping in ever so briefly on an assortment of characters in various states and places, "Love And Theft" has the feel of an evasive trip down a never-ending road. The corner of every phrase is handled precisely and the fuel is supplied by the dual charge of reminiscence and discovery.

"Love And Theft" (album): 92/100.

Broken chairs

Wish I Was In Heaven Sitting Down - R.L. Burnside (2000)

When R.L. Burnside passed away in 2005, the world lost one of the last true bluesmen. His blues is authentic, his moan well-earned, grinding a life of sharecropping, prison and the grisly murders of close family members.

He recorded very little until the 1990s, at which time he was already in his late sixties. His willingness to be both true to the North Mississippi Hill country blues tradition as mentored by Mississippi Fred McDowell, as well as to being an innovator led to as much acclaim as he would receive in his lifetime.

Fat Possum Records wisely signed him up and let him run ragged in the explosive twilight of his life. Burnside set down some truly masterful albums for this label, both acoustic and electric, whether backed only by his guitar, or in collaboration with the Jon Spencer Blues Explosion.

He caught the attention of a modern audience with innovation not usually associated with a conventional form, liberally embellishing his tracks with scratching and sampling. Purists may tremble, but the looplike blues structure actually lends itself quite well to such sonic accoutrements. Make no mistake anyway, when Burnside sits down to groan and wail old school, he delivers with a veracity attainable only under the weight of hard years.

Wish I Was In Heaven Sitting Down, then, is a nice balance with both sides of a 73-year old Burnside on proficient display. While it certainly lacks the acoustic thoroughness of Too Bad Jim (1992), it doesn't rock as hard as, say, Mr. Wizard (1997), either. Nor does it rely on studio production as exhaustively as Come On In (1998). Wish finds harmony in its broad scope, all the while adding new layers to the Burnside style.

We begin with the molasses moan of "Hard Time Killing Floor", (94/100), as good and gritty an indication of the singer's cred as any. Ostensibly a Skip James cover, Burnside adds the tragic details of his own bio, enlightening his audience as to why his life is always "rougher than ever before". "Two brothers and my father got killed in Chicago," he says matter-of-factly, "that's why I don't like living there." Yeah. No kidding. His vocals plead with the earnest intensity of a fevered warning.

Burnside's slow-burn vocals also highlight "Got Messed Up", (95), (http://www.mediafire.com/?fibv3tg67tk0rat). There is palpable despair in this track, evoked at least in part by its other major player, Johnny Dyer's wicked harmonica. A steady and soothing bassline offsets that with a determined resiliency. The hypnotic atmosphere Burnside creates naturally in his blues is augmented by the production on this track, as well as the entire album. Here we get some wah-tipped guitar, vinyl static and some strange synth thrown in on the bridge.

For an artist with as raucous a reputation as Burnside, this album is surprisingly subdued in its moodiness. "Miss Maybelle", (72), though, feels like the traditional juke joint romp that it is, aside from the spastic scratching, of course. It is followed by the title track, (93), in which Burnside hits his pure roots. The song is unadorned and, as a result, is the most commanding on the album. The woe in this gospel standard is unstated, but the desire for redemption is unmitigated and urgent.

In contrast to the somewhat sombre tone thus far, Burnside's sense of humour is prominently displayed on the next two tracks. Firstly, the rush of the world is mocked in "Too Many Ups", (77), over a bouncy groove with slide guitar, wah, subtle keyboard and even a nice little piano outro. "Nothin' Man", (76), is equally danceable, its satirical bite aimed at the maudlin self-pity that blues degenerates into in its extreme. "I never had a chance ... I wish my mama would have loved me," he deadpans, before Lynwood Slim takes over with some suitably smoking harmonica work.

"See What My Buddy Done", (88), is treated with the respect due a rugged blues warhorse. The guitars are bold and hard, the piano lively and complimentary. The producers prudently leave this one alone. "My Eyes Keep Me In Trouble," (75), amps up the country in country blues. The Hap Walker song, recorded by blues soldiers from Muddy Waters (1955), Big Walter Horton with Carey Bell (1973) to David Wilcox (1983), features a star turn for John Porter's mandolin.

Next, Burnside and crew lay down an unexpected R&B vibe on a cover of his own "Bad Luck City", (92), (http://www.mediafire.com/?u9ce3m9uebn299h). This track is uncharacteristically smooth but builds off the drone rhythms that Burnside is indeed known for. I have never, before or since, heard him sing like he does on the chorus. Affecting his plea with such ardent fervour emphasizes his desperation, yet, to his credit, the man never loses his cool.

He also covers "Chain Of Fools", (73), the Don Covay song made famous by Aretha Franklin on Lady Soul (1968). The vocals are good and gruff, there's more nice harmonica and the guitars are as screechy rocking as they get on Wish. This track suffers a little from overproduction, however, especially at a very distracting 2:46.

Finally, to close, we are treated to "R.L.'s Story", (93), an extrapolation on the events referred to in the album's opening track. We learn that in addition to his father and brothers being brutally murdered after moving to Chicago, the same fate befell two of his uncles as well. Horrifically, all these tragedies occured in the space of one year -- both of his brothers on the same day -- and none of the killers were ever caught. The haunting tale is spun over a sinister background of inconsolable guitar and nightmarish sound effects as thick as a delta flood.

The CD also includes three bonus tracks by labelmates, which feels kind of odd coming after such a piercing closing number as that. Robert Belfour presents "Black Mattie" from What's Wrong With You (2000), Paul Jones "Pucker Up Buttercup", the title track from a 1999 album, and Kenny Brown "Laugh To Keep From Crying", which was rechristened "You Don't Know My Mind" by the time Stingray was released in 2003.

Perhaps we don't get as much of Burnside's signature wild and swinging blues here, but what it lacks in clamour, it makes up for in mood. Anyone can be loud, only a master can be this good.

Wish I Was In Heaven Sitting Down (album): 84/100.

Atlas shrugged

The Soft Bulletin - The Flaming Lips (1999)

This album is the Amazon rainforest of beautiful sounds. The orchestration is deep, the melodies lush. It's a rich ecosystem of symphony, synths and sound effects, but nothing is overdone.

Thus it is not imposing staring ahead into endless and viny foliage and mud or the possibility of lurking predators. The sense of the unknown gives this album a feeling of fresh excitement and discovery even eleven years later. The warmth of the music somehow defuses its own density, making it not just intriguing, but moreover, inviting.

While not completely abandoning the punk absurdity of previous efforts, the ideas presented by the Lips on Soft are smoother, the lyrics grander in scope. Facing tasks bigger than one's self is a recurring theme on the record, perhaps mirrored by the band's own efforts in creating it.

Like the band, then, the scientists in "Race For The Prize", (87/100), are willing to take risks. They go to great lengths, giving up everything important to them, their families, their lives, to benefit humanity. That they do so even in the face of getting stiffed with the box of Cracker Jacks that comes with no prize inside lends the track its subtitle: "Sacrifice Of The New Scientists". The US version of Soft features a remix of this track, while the original mix which kicks off the UK edition, is included as a bonus track. The remix puts a little more shine on the song, making it a touch more piano-based. It also sadly puts a bit of a mute on the raw power of Steven Drozd's trademark drum sound.

The melodic intro to "A Spoonful Weighs A Ton", (85), belies the bizarre tone that synths announce more clearly at 1:23. In "giving more than they had," the people in this song execute an impossible plan of rescue. They achieve their great accomplishment of "lift(ing) up the sun" with grit and determination as wonderfully strained as Wayne Coyne's voice. Opposition is silenced by love and a peculiar call-and-answer between the synths and guitars at 1:23 and again at 2:22.

"The Spark That Bled", (84), chronicles what happens after being hit by "the softest bullet ever shot". There is a defiant strength in the face of the existential crisis of this song. It actually produces such a triumphant feeling that by the time he sings, "I stood up and I said 'Hey Yeah!'", I totally want to join him. The confident momentum keeps growing, changing the song at 3:52, until of course reality rears its ugly head at the end.

There is more adversity to be overcome in "The Spiderbite Song", (85). Whether threatened by insect poison or horrific car accidents, destruction is only averted through connection with others. The track features drum fills sucked through a black hole, likely the very one that love "leaves in its absence," the greatest tragedy of all. The UK edition trades "Spiderbite" for "Slow Motion", (84), a seemingly lighter track, what with its "drifting" and "floating".

By the time "Buggin'", (98), (http://www.mediafire.com/?196ltmg8m2o9lwb), comes around, this album has really settled in nicely. Simply put, this track is outstanding. "Does love buzz because that's what it does?" Brilliant. Multi-tracked and phased vocal harmonies are just one layer of sonic sugar to feast upon. The version that appears on the US album, and on the UK edition only as a bonus track, is actually another remix. The original mix, equally appealing, though less glossy and with a slightly extended sound effect coda, has the subtitle, "The Buzz Of Love Is Busy Buggin' You".

"What Is The Light?", (95), is asked with the urgency required of the most important inquiry ever. Subtitled "An Untested Hypothesis Suggesting That The Chemical (In Our Brains) By Which We Are Able To Experience The Sensation Of Being In Love Is The Same Chemical That Caused The "Big Bang" That Was The Birth Of The Accelerating Universe", its piano is pensive and haunting. Yet when the drums kick in at :56, the song becomes a celebration of its own potential and the longing for love. "The Observer", (82), extrapolates on it impartially and instrumentally.

When carrying around all that life becomes too overwhelming, we get a song like "Waitin' For A Superman", (95), (http://www.mediafire.com/?8k1987uc0s28p6r), or "Is It Gettin' Heavy?". Paced by Drozd's weighty beat and the intermittent tolling of a bell, the track wonders what burden can be reasonably bared when even a figure like Superman eventually tires out. By the time the trumpets roll at 3:03, the hair on my arms is straight up. Both the US and UK versions also include a bonus remix of this track, which is again more polished. The bassline gets more emphasis, the bell diminished while the trumpets are absent.

The ennui of everyday is placed in context when reminiscing about the past in "Suddenly Everything Has Changed", (80), aptly subtitled "Death Anxiety Caused By Moments Of Boredom". Even change in a modern song like this is temporary: bridges always lead back to repetitive verse and chorus structure. Perhaps routine and ritual are silent culprits behind many problems in a world where history repeats itself and nothing really changes.

While everyone on this planet stands neck deep in the same exhausting war for survival, some might use "The Gash", (97), (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0I_4N0fTCSQ), as an excuse to throw in the towel. While some have "lost all the will to battle on", others, bloodied and broken, still find the resolve to continue the fight. The drums drive this call-to-arms juggernaut, subtitled "Battle Hymn For The Wounded Mathematician", maintaining their heavy otherdimensional sound. In its true spirit, the beats on this album always sound on the verge of utter collapse, but of course, never do. Side three of the vinyl presentation of Soft (which includes all the original Lips mixes) concludes with "The Gash". Side four starts up with "Slow Motion".

The CD, however, continues with "Feeling Yourself Disintegrate", (94). Amidst a "brap-bap-bap", it measures the ultimate necessity of love and even death to make life worth living. "Love in our life," it rightly asserts, "is just too valuable to feel for even a second without it." The song itself traverses a dulcet landscape, into which a listener can effortlessly dissolve, before casually coming apart itself.

Finally, "Sleeping On The Roof", (84), or "Excerpt From 'Should We Keep The Severed Head Awake??'", ushers the epic journey to a close. An instrumental that brings to mind the mood of the Roy Harper-narrated hidden track on The Tea Party's The Edges Of Twilight (1995), it is the embrace of a well-deserved rest before one's inevitable return to the trenches of their life.

The Soft Bulletin 5.1 (2006) features the original mixes of the songs and a slightly amended track order, apparently in keeping more with the Lips' original intentions. It, as well a recent vinyl reissue, includes a three-track bonus disc called The Soft Bulletin Outtakes. The songs, "1000 ft. Hand", "The Captain Is A Cold-Hearted And Egotistical Fool" and "Satellite Of You", are all aurally interesting, with "The Captain" being the standout. Dealing with time, labs and love, the songs are not completely thematically incompatible with the album proper, but do work better on their own here.

Those outtakes, along with several other rarities, mixes and live performances, also turn up on The Soft Bulletin - The Companion CD (1999) and The Soft Bulletin Companion 2 (2000) promos.

When I first bought The Soft Bulletin, after seeing the Lips' manic performance at the Toronto Rocks benefit in 2003, the artwork and the presentation of the credits made me wonder if I was buying a soundtrack to some obscure indie film. Indeed, The Soft Bulletin is a widescreen album. It is cinematic music for a mind movie.

The Soft Bulletin (album): 89/100.

Bark at the moon

Unleashed - Leaf Hound (2007)

The core of the band Leaf Hound had already splintered before the release of their lone album in 1971, the powerful Growers Of Mushroom. Lead singer Peter French moved on to vocal duties in several other bands but was convinced some thirty-odd years later that the time was ripe for a Leaf Hound follow-up.

It had all the warning signs of a great disaster. Growers has gained such iconic cult status over the years that a protracted sequel could be seen as pointless at best, blasphemous at worst. That is further exacerbated by the fact that of the original band members, only French would be present. That the new members were all young Leaf Hound fanatics did not allay visions of some cringeworthy tribute band unwittingly making a mockery of that which they profess to love.

Somehow, though, it all worked, and then some. The youth of the new band members cultivated a hungry energy. French himself hadn't lost anything in the intervening three decades. Their resulting collaboration, Unleashed, whether authentically Leaf Hound or not, is an irresistibly rocking album in its own right.

Picking straight up on the rugged blues riffs of its much older brother, this is an album of hard lessons learned. "One Hundred And Five Degrees", (86/100), is a feverish kick-start. French sounds battle-scarred and trench-hardened while the band wastes no time laying down a major-league lick, proving it can rock with the big boys. The band plays tight and hard up and down the length of the album.

Drummer Jimmy Rowland often gets much of the credit for planting the seeds of the renovated and reinvigorated Leaf Hound. Likewise his beat on "Barricades", (87), develops the riff that is the backbone of an amazing song. For his part, French vocally invokes Hendrix.

"The Man With The Moon In Him", (92), relays a bizarre encounter with a solar aficionado, complete with prerequisite interstellar breakdown. The spacey guitar solo builds up to sonic supernova. While the first two songs are in no way lacking, the band really busts loose here and lives up to the album's title.

The slow burner, "Nickels And Dimes", (94), (http://www.mediafire.com/?5vhwnib85e79798), follows. It has an epic acoustic sound to start and plugs in after the first chorus. The guitar solo is suitably sorrowful, the tale a familiar lament over "the one thing my money was never gonna buy." Stripped back down to basic acoustics to conclude, one reverberates in the sad echo of a man in a lonely vacuum.

"Stop, Look And Listen", (86), is some friendly advice that avoids being pedantic. The breezy, melodic verses draw a listener like honey while the riff-heavy chorus still conveys the confidence that it is coming from someone who knows what he's talking about. "Overtime", (80), is a solid rocker, while being the album's shortest tune.

I first heard the next song, my favourite on this album, as a bonus track on a recent reissue of Growers. It was only after hearing "Too Many Rock 'N' Roll Times", (95), (http://www.mediafire.com/?e0m33nuq4wdclah), that much of my trepidation about the upcoming Unleashed abated. This is as smooth as a dirty riff can sound and it is as beautiful a moan to ever rise from the rubble of pretty brown eyes, wild hearts and broken nights.

The opening riff of "Deception", (89), rings faintly of Zeppelin's "Over The Hills And Far Away" (1973). It's a jangly little apology from someone who has lost by his own hand, who has flushed the best things in his life down a pit of lies. Perhaps ironically, this song feels as genuine and heartfelt as any on the record.

"Breakthrough", (92), then closes the album, a cover of a tune French originally performed on 1971's In Hearing Of, during his short stint with Atomic Rooster. This song really showcases the new Leaf Hound: the drumming is outstanding and there is an absolutely smoking guitar solo from 5:45 to 6:30. The vocals yearn for that somehow always elusive freedom and the band dedicates their effort to the song's co-writer, Atomic Rooster/Crazy World Of Arthur Brown keyboardist Vincent Crane, whose tragic life was cut short in 1989.

The re-emergence of old bands with new material definitely doesn't always work out as well as this. As if a nomad returning from a long dark journey, Unleashed has the authenticity of hard-won experience. But it is precisely in its fusion with youthful enthusiasm that the album gains its rare intensity and vitality.

Unleashed (album): 88/100.

Nothin' but a hound dog

Hair Of The Dog - Nazareth (1975)

This is an old-fashioned, hard rocking, whiskey-ripened, spit riffing, bad woman blues album. The gritty tone is set even from Dave Roe's nightmarish cover art, exemplified in Dan McCafferty's gutter-scraped vocals, amplified in Manny Charlton's gut-level guitars and moody production, and sustained by the monolithic rhythm section of Pete Agnew and Darrell Sweet.

This album is dirty from the cowbell's first clang through to its final wailing fadeout. Make no mistake, however. While Hair Of The Dog may be up to its neck in dreck, it certainly isn't wallowing in it. This albums shreds tears, not sheds them.

It doesn't get much more audacious than the title track, (99/100). The riff is charged by frustration well past its boiling point, the vocals unrestrained in outrage. The vexation is palpable via talk box in the instrumental bridge and fade-out. Certainly anthemic, this track is only out for blood.

No time to take cover, though, as the assault of "Miss Misery", (99), (http://www.mediafire.com/?bie9l3sf4z8re52), also detonates from its very first sharp and savage riff. The vocals are nothing short of outstanding on this track, matched in intensity only by a turbulent slide guitar solo which can only have originated in the pit of Vesuvius. The chiming guitar in the mellow fade-out is a much needed shelter in this uncontainable furor.

It allows a more introspective look at disappointment in "Guilty", (73), a cover of a tune on Randy Newman's Good Old Boys (1974). The slow drunken lament emphasizes the torment of the vocals, which are accompanied only by junk organ, skillfully understated guitar, short-lived background "oohs" and a faraway drumbeat.

Of course, the relative tranquility is short-lived also. On an album as volatile as this, "Changin' Times", (85), turns the amps back up. The agitated vocals sear over a thick and heavy blues lick until 2:55 when the band kicks it into high gear on three-minute fadeout tailor-made for a quick getaway down the highway.

This is followed by "Beggar's Day", (98), (http://www.mediafire.com/?nidhu38ms9pv7js), an aggressive cover of a Nils Lofgren tune which first appeared on Crazy Horse's self-titled 1971 album. The guitars are beautifully brutal, particularly on the build-up to the chorus where they sound like they're melting. The solo is rabid and McCafferty's menacing growl somehow sounds more wickedly robust with each track. At 3:45, the song shifts into a mellow, synth-fueled escape called "Rose In The Heather". Charlton's more subdued guitar work here credits it an ethereal, almost calming quality. It's a great contrast to the rest of the album.

"Whiskey Drinkin' Woman", (80), is a pretty straightforward blues moan about an alcoholic girl dragging a guy into the poorhouse. The song showcases a couple of nice guitar solos (especially the long one at the end) and a warped sense of humour: "The way that things are going, (I'll) have to buy the distillery."

Hair then concludes with another change of pace on the haunting epic, "Please Don't Judas Me", (97). Over its nine-and-a-half minutes, the exasperated vocals plea for "just one shred of kindness" from the jagged and indifferent landscape of existence. The mood is weary yet indignant, with an eerie pall cast by stark guitars. The rhythm section advances zombie-like. What a perfect way to go out, a grim and determined nod to the saying "Once bitten ..."

This album has the spirit of a vicious dog fight in the mangy bowels of some back alley. Maybe one of the dogs doesn't even stand a chance against the other one, but he's going to inflict some damage one way or another. The anger is fueled by agony and expressed in adrenalin.

The U.S. edition of Hair replaces one cover with another, inserting hit single "Love Hurts" for "Guilty". I can take "Love Hurts" as a bonus track but its proto-emo whine is a hard fit for the album proper. The original version was recorded by the Everly Brothers in 1960, with notables as diverse as Roy Orbison, Robin Gibb and Cher (twice) also gracing the world with takes on it.

There have been several CD reissues of Hair, each with varying bonus tracks, including b-sides and single edits. The latest reissue, on Salvo (2010), includes the singles "Love Hurts", "My White Bicycle" and "Holy Roller" with its excellent b-side, "Railroad Boy". There are also five live recordings from the BBC, including this album's title track.

Hair Of The Dog (album): 90/100.

The water is wide

Drowning With Land In Sight - The 77's (1994)

It is no original thought that, somehow, from the bitter wreckage of failed relationships have come some epic albums.

It's a dangerous high-wire, of course. If unrestrained, the cauldron of emotion can easily swell with embarassing results. In the precise hands of a capable artist, however, the culminating work can be challenging, refreshing and most beautiful.

Bob Dylan's Blood On The Tracks, (1975), and Fleetwood Mac's Rumours, (1977), are famous examples of the latter. Adam Again's Perfecta, (1995), and the 77's 1994 effort, Drowning With Land In Sight, are more obscure instances where the rawness of emotion, that potent mix of anger and loss, have been skillfully distilled into something altogether more beautiful than a painful send-off or a confused picking up of the pieces.

In Drowning, Michael Roe examines the shambles of whatever had passed through his life with a brutal, yet refreshing honesty, in an album that, while at times is as hard as the 77's have ever sounded, finds an effective balance between impassioned rockers and mournful ballads.

Roe reveals his hand straight up with the opening track, a remarkably faithful cover of Led Zeppelin's arrangement of Blind Willie Johnson's "Nobody's Fault But Mine", (95/100). The guitars grunt and spit over an exasperated vocal lamenting one's own failings. It's a suitably seismic kickoff, featuring outstanding harmonica work on the instrumental bridge from 2:56.

"Snowblind", (85), is not a Black Sabbath cover, rather its own frustrated dirge, an invasive spotlight on an unhinged state of mind. The song rumbles along with appropriately chaotic guitars, casting the listener, willing or not, into the stormy midst of the song's own rattled existence.

The bassline on "Snake", (93), literally slithers. Meanwhile, lyrical venom is delivered alternately (and sometimes simultaneously) with a cold apathy and an inflamed intensity that serves nimbly the purpose of making listeners' skin crawl. It's a slippery, yet expertly executed, diversion from relationship wreckage to a place infinitely darker and that much more frightening. Roe himself introduces a video for the song here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aAxgDX9ZrOA.

Next, "Indian Winter", (75), fashions a decidedly Eastern rhythm into a guitar riff, while wistfully invoking a Native American raindance to chase away the blues. Then the hard licks and virulence are traded for breezy SoCal melodies on "Film At 11", (90), one of Drowning's stand-out tracks. "Mezzo", (90), is a beautiful instrumental; not hard, not soft, just nice.

"Cold Cold Night", (96), (http://www.mediafire.com/?nydsyopwt8f8nnt), is a slow-burning Rolling Stones-tinged lick, as the album returns to the hard side for a last-gasp plea at reconciliation. The guitar solo at the song's end, especially from 5:25, drops my jaw to this day, no matter how many times I hear it.

Also on the list of things that can provoke an angry response is a health scare. David Leonhardt of The Strawmen was playing guitar for the 77's at the time he was diagnosed with Hodgkin's Disease. "Dave's Blues", (85), is a gut-level expression of that, though slightly censored by the record company. "Sounds O' Autumn," (66), signals the cry of war drums for nearly two minutes, while simultaneously signalling an end to Drowning's rockers.

"The Jig Is Up", (77), is the start of a trio of ballads that wind down the album. "Jig", while pushing the borders of self-pity as far as this album dares, still sounds epic thanks to the continued presence of war drums and guitars as majestic as if at the summit of some Himalayan beast. Good that the guitars can be up there, even when the subject matter can't. Roe's trademark playful lyrics highlight both it and "Alone Together", (83), a jaunty pop song with a strong vocal performance and a guitar so precise not a note is wasted.

The album ends strong with "For Crying Out Loud", (95), (http://www.mediafire.com/?3tqu3ow6nud61qo), a song only written and included at the record company's insistence that there be something "positive" on it. Tom Petty once wrote "Some days are diamonds, some days are rocks." Phil Madeira wrote, "Life's a wicked job but someone's got to do it. When it gets rock hard, you've got to chisel through it." This song gropes down that same dusk road trying to figure how to go on when there's no reason to.

The beauty of this album is in the warts-and-all honesty of its presentation. The artists involved cannot be accused of hiding and the naked heart is perhaps the world's rarest resource.

Drowning With Land In Sight (album): 86/100.

Thunder road

Strikes - Thundermug (1972)

I was looking at a children's book yesterday. It featured paintings of various weather patterns and, to teach the children what is what, had the corresponding word emblazoned underneath. Sun, rain, all the major stuff was there. But then, under the picture of a big lightning bolt was the word "Thunder!"

Sigh.

Anyways, I just came across this album a couple of months back and it made a great first impression. It hits like lightning -- heavy and you never see it coming -- but sounds like thunder. The songs are monsters -- big guitars, big bass, big drums -- like Mountain or some of the heavier Bachman-Turner Overdrive. Like BTO, Thundermug is Canadian-made, hailing from London, Ontario.

The only song I knew previously was the album opener, "Africa", (82/100). It begins the album with the propulsive energy, great riffing and frenetic bass that characterize Strikes as a whole. I had heard the song occasionally on classic-rock radio, always liked it and was surprised that the album only gets better from here.

"Page 125/What Would You Do?/ Help Father Sun Suite", (88) is a three-part epic, part raging guitars, part bizarre sha-la-la harmonies, part teasing ballad. Ten minutes is ample time to touch a lot of ground, but even in the relatively quieter moments, somehow the heavy guitars are always hanging around in the background, just waiting for the chance (and usually not very patiently) to make their impressive presence felt.

"And They Danced", (94), (http://www.mediafire.com/?kfm5184n93slx5k), follows up shortly on its heels, almost as if part four of the suite. "Now go sing this song to your friends," it says, purporting, "there's good in the message it sends." Whether or not that's accurate, the blistering guitars exquisitely erupt, romping unabated from 1:18 until 3:31. I'll dance to that, while whole cities are leveled in its wake.

This is followed by a straightforward, though ultra-heavy cover of The Kinks' "You Really Got Me", (77), before "Fortune's Umbrella", (84), cuts back the pace a couple notches. If nothing else, it shows Thundermug can do more than just high-octane. Deceptively mellow, the guitars again simmer until they finally boil over in the "lalala" bridge.

The relatively peaceful oasis is short-lived as the guitars are cranked up again for "Jane J. James", (88). The bass is positively elastic, while the guitar solo from 1:14 to 1:28 is a great example of how much a talented guitarist can do with even just a few bars. "Will They Ever", (85), is another flash of harmonic hard rock with a regal sounding solo in the middle.

Strikes ends, perhaps appropriately, with the biggest rocker on the whole album, "Where Am I?", (93), (http://www.mediafire.com/?zjasi0k8bgbn4bo). What begins as clap-happy singalong soon detonates into six-string fury. The guitars sound like sonic steroids, while the vocals soar and incite. We get another extended musical interlude, fuzzy and fried, replete with rhythmic rumblings and cool little drum fills.

The album was released on Axe Records in 1972, although Epic repackaged it for the USA a year later. Though having the same title and cover art, the US version actually only includes four tracks from this album, along with seven from Thundermug's sophomore release, Orbit.

It's good to remember when an album could be short, sweet and still pack more than its share of punch.

Strikes (album): 86/100.

One fine day

Sumday - Grandaddy (2003)

Who says melancholy can't be fun?

Everytime I listen to this album, I think I'll just listen to the first half and then move on to something else. For some reason, this album sticks in my mind as top-heavy, with all the songs I like being on what would amount to side one of a vinyl album. Without fail, however, I'm still around when the album ends and remember how good the record finishes up too.

This tends to be a "hard times" album for me, one I likely first heard in such throes and one I invariably return to when they come again for more. It's good meds, empathetic without being patronizing, wistful and tinged with a rare light-hearted sadness.

As a matter of fact, the opening track, "Now It's On", (86/100), is downright triumphant. After a few seconds of sound effects, the album begins gathering momentum with a catchy guitar riff that takes off with the chorus at :49 and never looks back. Jason Lytle's lyrics on this song, as on the entire album, are as playful as the synth bursts that punctuate them. "I've got no reason to be weathered and withering like in the season of the old me," he sings and the "woohoo" at 1:40 backs it up. The guitars in this song have a similar flavour to those in The Smashing Pumpkins' "1979".

"I'm On Standby", (82), could fit in just as well on Grandaddy's previous album, The Sophtware Slump (2000), with its thematic robotic obsolescence. The kind-of-sad subject matter is belied by a bouncy, infectious melody that makes me want to be five years old again.

Unpleasant feelings are also handled with cheerful keyboards and breathy harmonies in "The Go In The Go-For-It", (84), which could be the most beautiful middle finger ever flown. Anyone who has ever not fit in at one time and/or another can appreciate Lytle's "When they expected that, they instead got this, a broken but pretty mess. What they cared I could care less."

Don't waste one second of your life doing something you don't want to do. That's as good a credo as I've heard and it's an idea emphasized in "The Group Who Couldn't Say", (90). Somebody made a cool video of this song here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=esxNH90-j5k . What happens when a group of salespeople win a trip outside their office? More people should stand in creeks and come up with lyrics as whimsical as "Becky wondered why she'd never noticed dragonflies. Her drag-and-click had never yielded anything as perfect as a dragonfly."

"I wonder what they'll make of me when I'm good and gone," is an anthem for those always on the run from something. "Lost On Yer Merry Way", (97), (http://www.mediafire.com/?yc9zj8iiv5i90e7), is one of my favorite songs ever. The disillusionment with one's self and one's surroundings can make one feel trapped in one's own life and this song is an explosive bust out response to that. The lyrics and ideas are (once again) razor sharp, the tune warm and leisurely and the extended fade-out just adds to the epic feel of the track.

The track after my favourite one on almost any album tends to get lost in the shuffle for me. "El Caminos In The West", (80), is like that. It's a catchy enough tune and, like "The Group", begins with a carefree "doo doo doo". Also dealing with alienation, it offers that in the quest for "peace of mind and happiness", as far away from home as that might take you, "the demolition can still be a lot of fun." Chaos happens. Accept it.

It takes some talent to ask "In this life, will I ever see you again?" without being saccharine. "'Yeah' Is What We Had", (85), succeeds and makes me wonder how many people have passed through my life like a whisper, or burned through with the strength of a supernova only to disappear completely through the resulting black hole. I really like the guitar riff at the end.

"El Caminos" and "'Yeah'" both have great official videos which can be found on YouTube.

"The Saddest Vacant Lot In All The World", (79), is a dirge about lost love. There are better ones out there, but it is still well written and performed, maybe stretching out a little long.

Before you can get bummed out though, the bleeps and bloops are back with a vengenance on "Stray Dog And The Chocolate Shake", (80). Though I might feel a little sorry for abused hard-working robots and lonely limousines, this song is breezy enough to make me smile. "OK With My Decay", (83), might be the happiest song about dying out there, literally rejoicing with yet more "doo doo doos."

"The Warming Sun", (86), laments a lost love and longs just to be with someone on a warm, sunny day. The singing is especially honest and beautiful on the chorus of this song, and then the album concludes with "The Final Push To The Sum", (91), which is brave enough to ask if all the running and escaping has affected any change, and if so, "what have I become?"

Great question. Great album. It doesn't paint an unrealistically positive portrait of the world we live in, but neither does it accept to wallow in its own inevitable self-pity.

The special edition of Sumday features a bonus disc with nine live tracks: "'Yeah'", "Go-For-It" and "Vacant Lot" from this album; "He's Simple, He's Dumb, He's The Pilot" and "The Crystal Lake" from Sophtware; and "A.M. 180" and "Laughing Stock" from Under The Western Freeway (1997). "For The Dishwasher", originally from the 1998 EP Machines Are Not She, is also included, as is a version of "Crystal Lake" b-side, "Our Dying Brains", (http://www.mediafire.com/?wb2jto56i9p8tgc). The tracks are all at least decent, with "Brains" being the standout, its very title made ironic by Lytle's pre-song admission to ingesting copious amounts of banned substances.

Sumday (album): 85/100.

World wary

Brutal Planet - Alice Cooper (2000)

Here's a great album for those days when you just want to kick the world in the nuts. It rocks hard, plain and simple.

The album in one word: Heavy. That applies musically and thematically. Brutal Planet takes that proverbial cold, hard look at many of the things that people are not comfortable taking a cold, hard look at: hate, hunger, abuse, alienation; those parts of our humanity, both personally and as a race, that we'd rather not admit to.

While heavy, this album is never burdensome, however. Somehow Alice Cooper manages to keep his trademark sense of humour, as gallows as it may be, to, if not quite lighten his subject matter, then at least help us navigate the darkness. Still, it's certainly a precarious tightrope and, honestly, I don't know how in cheek his tongue may be this time around. Most often it seems pointed straight out.

As soon as the guitars start chugging to open the album, and the vocals begin with "We're spinning round on this ball of hate", you know this isn't going to be a leisurely frolic through a sunny park. The lyrics on this album hit as hard as the riffs. The opening title track, (90/100), laments our fall from Eden into a harsh history of war, pain and death. It doesn't get much heavier than "Right here is where we hung him upon an ugly cross/ Over there we filled the ovens, right here the holocaust".

Sadly, chill-inducing inhumanity of that level didn't pass away in 1945, as "Wicked Young Man", (75), attests to. Written from the point of view of a neo-Nazi who "never ever sleep[s]" but "just lay[s] in ... bed/ Dreaming of the day when everyone is dead", hatred fuels violence to this day. This "vicious young man", though, doesn't lay any blame for his rage on society and its movies or music, rather on just his own depraved soul.

"Sanctuary", (93), is a great song, with its explosive chorus, "Go A - Way!" The slow crawl to death via the mundanity of rat-race existence and its ultimate effect of pushing people further and further apart is examined here under Cooper's satiric eye. Perhaps a heavy metal answer to the late Hank Cochran's "Make The World Go Away", (1963).

The bullets fly in "Blow Me A Kiss", (86), a song with great-sounding background response vocals on the verses. This could be an anthem for the alienated who would rather die than face another brutal day on said-same world.

The oft-rendered, but no less tragic, juxtaposition of the gluttony of the western world with the fatal hunger of the third world provides the canvas for "Eat Some More", (79). The lyrics bring to mind Bob Dylan's classic, "People starving and thirsting, grain elevators are bursting/ Oh you know it costs more to store the food than it do to give it" from "Slow Train" (1979), while grinding guitars give it a flavour all its own. Sub-titled "Taste The Pain" in some media, it's kind of a sonic equivalent to Morgan Spurlock's 2004 documentary, Super Size Me, as a good listen to the lyrics may cause appetite loss.

I don't know what "Pick Up The Bones", (94), is about, but it's awesome in its bizarre and dark imagery. It begins, "Collecting pieces of my family in an old pillowcase" and goes down the shadowy rabbit hole from there.

"Pessi-Mystic", (93), manages to encapsulate the album's great dichotomy in being at once funny and disturbing in how close to home it cuts. What I find oddest about this song, however, is that it may be directing its venom towards the very people who would be most interested in an album like this.

"Gimme", (88), continues the contagious riffing and frightening narration: "Don't you deserve to have it all? ... Everything has a price ..."

What makes Alice Cooper angry? "It's The Little Things", (75), which strikes me as almost too cute with its less subtle humour and self-referential chorus: "Welcome to my nightmare/ No more Mister Nice Guy". It's still a solid rocker, though, followed by what may be the album's strongest track.

"Take It Like A Woman," (95),(http://www.mediafire.com/?0u19mx3pkqy71o1), is Alice's latest ironically-titled tribute to the most-assuredly stronger sex, a la "Only Women Bleed". The strings on the chorus only elevate this already-awesome ballad to the wonderverse.

The guitars are back in full force for the album's closer, "Cold Machines", (77), a final reminder of the space between us all.

The Japanese edition also features a track with one of the best titles I've ever seen: "Can't Sleep, Clowns Will Eat Me", (79), (http://www.mediafire.com/?bx0gey82xubh3ws). It's a fairly straightforward rocker, though not quite as hard as anything on the album proper. It finally saw the light of day in North America on the Dragontown Special Edition in 2002.

The 2001 Tour Edition of Brutal Planet also features four live bonus tracks: "Little Things" and "Wicked" from this album, each a fine performance, but in my opinion, the main draw of Alice live is visual. There's also a rocking, raspy, can't-reach-the-high-notes-anymore version of "Poison", (the original of which appeared on 1990's Trash) and an aborted version of The Who's "My Generation", which, clocking in at a minute-and-a-half, simply begs the question, "Why?"

Brutal Planet (album): 86/100