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By Rudy Klapper, June 16, 2009 12:00 pm

Jonas Brothers – Lines, Vines and Trying Times

Hollywood Records 2009

Rating: 3/10

The Disney mass marketing scheme that is the Jonas Brothers really made some bank this past year; believe it or not, the opaquely-titled Lines, Vines and Trying Times is the band’s third (!) release in less than a year, although one of them was technically a “concert” record. Their brand of disarmingly infectious power-pop was catchy enough, and their handsome boy-band image coupled with their virtuous Christian beliefs made them the perfect poster child for Disney Channel after Miley’s Vogue semi-meltdown, and damn, have they capitalized. Seriously, go check out their Wikipedia page for the past year.

Besides making ’08-’09 their personal bitch, the band and their handlers found time to record another full-length record with even more bells and whistles than last year’s A Little Bit Longer. If you’ve heard that, don’t come into Lines expecting any radical stylistic divergences – well, except for a couple (which, not surprisingly, fail spectacularly), but for the most part the band’s girl-crazy/power-chord guitar pop stays as strong as ever. And to be honest, despite all my personal disdain for the Disney Channel and the prefabricated pop stars they manage to pump out at an alarming rate, you can’t ignore the pop heart beating at the center of many of these tunes. Obviously several of the songs here have the potential to be platinum singles, while at the same time maintaining the appropriate solid hook/vapid fun ratio that makes a song, if not excellent throwaway pop, definitely tolerable.

First single “Paranoid” is cookie-cutter pop with some fairly nonsensical lyrics about *spoiler* paranoia. Vastly superior opener “World War III” boasts some seriously big-band brass and overly affected vocals by Nick/Joe, which continually reminded me of Taylor Hanson’s recent work with Tinted Windows. Not necessarily a bad thing, and on songs like “Hey Baby” or the fiddle-tastic “What Did I Do To Your Heart,” these emotive vocals save the songs from the ridiculous over-production that surrounds them.

Really, it seems like the Jonas Brothers/producer (John Fields here), discovered that their indeed lies a world beyond guitars, drums, and bass and decided to use a full-on symphony in every song. Most of the time this only muddles the band’s power-pop roots, like most of the horn frenzy that is the first half of the album, or the walls of strings on syrupy ballads like “Black Keys” (surprisingly not about the Midwestern blues duo). It’s this adult-contemporary, everything-and-the-kitchen-sink production mentality that sadly obscures what is the band’s true talents: writing simple, energetic pop songs built on that tried-and-true guitar/drums/bass foundation.

But auditory overload can only amplify some of a song’s catchiest tendencies, and on some efforts, like the obscenely packed “Much Better,” the Jonas Brothers make up for it with insanely fetching hooks, so-cheesy-it’s-good ‘80s production values, and lyrics like “all the tears on her guitar / I’m not bitter . . . “now I see everything I’d ever need / is the girl in front of me / she’s much better” (ZING Taylor! You so just got dissed). But the best is yet to come – just check out how Joe sings the chorus at the 3:18 minute mark, particularly his falsetto version. Maybe those purity rings are just for show…

Indeed, this album would have a fairly average rating if it weren’t for two unforgivable miscalculations, “Poison Ivy” and “Don’t Charge Me With The Crime ft. Common” (no, that’s not a typo). The former is a twisted pastiche of the brothers’ typical power-pop with some neutered hair metal influences. It sounds just as bad as you might imagine; I’d like to think the “gimme some poison baby” exclamation at the end is a clue that the Jonas Brothers are in on this seemingly forced genre exercise/joke, but I don’t want to jump to any conclusions.

“Poison Ivy” is a mere misdemeanor, however, compared to the faux-rap of “Don’t Charge Me With The Crime.” I don’t know what sort of photos Disney had of Common to blackmail him into this, but suffice to say that the song and his guest spot must be heard to be believed. Combine lyrics like “friend gets in the car with bags / filled to the top with loads of cash / throws his pistol on the dash” and Common’s chanting things like “tried to get rich / but they labeled me filthy,” with a “threatening” guitar line and assorted atmospheric sounds that just scream “hard-ass criminals.”

Lines, Vines and Trying Times is not the power-pop masterpiece many fans expected after A Little Bit Longer, which admittedly had its merits, but nor is it the utter disaster that even more expect every time the Jonas Brothers plug in their instruments. Then again, even in the realm of manufactured boy bands, Lines is at times unbearably embarrassing, a caricature of the light pop/rock they made their names on: I can honestly say “Don’t Charge Me With The Crime” is one of the few real songs that made me laugh on first listen. Perhaps this is their singular foray into their version of experimentation, and they’ll leave the thirty-two-piece orchestra and bombastic brass in the studio. Just pray they don’t get Timbaland on board.

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By Rudy Klapper, June 9, 2009 12:00 pm

Kasabian – West Ryder Pauper Lunatic Asylum

RCA / Columbia 2009

Rating: 5/10

Remember when Oasis was cool? Well, so do Kasabian, and for this, shall we say, confident band from Leicester, they’ve never given up on the dream of being the next Britpop band to take over the world like those lovable Gallagher brothers. At face value they have it all – a critically acclaimed debut record, a snarly frontman, a songwriter/guitarist who occasionally steps up to the mic, and a “we’re the greatest band in the world” attitude. Closer inspection reveals, however, that Kasabian have long been mere pretenders to Oasis’ long dusty throne; their self-titled debut really wasn‘t all that amazing, singer Tom Meighan is just as annoying as Liam with fewer redeeming vocal qualities, and, while Sergio Pizzorno’s riffs are often the high point of any Kasabian record, they are usually more imitation than fresh goods.

But inane amounts of confidence and the regular hype from the British press, not to mention Oasis itself, have gotten the band this far, and with their third effort, West Ryder Pauper Lunatic Asylum, the group has delved into uncharted territory: the concept album. “Concept,” of course, being used very loosely; Pizzorno has stated the album is “the soundtrack to any imaginary movie,” and at 52 bloated minutes, it feels like one, albeit one without any noticeable theme or motif. Thing is, opener “Underdog” could have been on any Kasabian release. Roaring along grimy guitar riffs and Kasabian’s trademarked processed backbeats, “Underdog” features Meighan doing his normal Liam-esque rant, replete with bloodless threats like “kill me if you dare / hold my head up everywhere.”

Much has been made of this record’s supposed “experimentation,” and for all of “Underdog’s” undeniable catchiness, it’s enjoyable to hear the band mix things up on the psychedelic “Where Did All The Love Go?,” with its staccato strings and a ‘60s imitation chorus, and the excellently trippy acoustic stomp of “Thick As Thieves.” For every success, however, there’s a half-baked expedition like the over-before-it-starts “Swarfiga” or a failed genre exercise like the raga-rock of “Secret Alphabet” (which may or may not have been a response to Oasis’ similarly-themed “To Be Where There’s Life” off last year’s record).

Producer Dan the Automator’s influence is clearly felt on West Ryder, particularly on the squelching electronica of “Vlad The Impaler” and the excellent slow motion Western haunt that is “Ladies And Gentlemen, Roll The Dice,” not to mention the numerous pseudo-hip-hop beats that crop up in every other song. But a producer’s work can only save the source material so much, and when the lyrics are particularly boisterous and clanging, as on the embarrassing “Fast Fuse” (“I’ve got no time to love / just a city to abuse” and “I’m like Lucifer’s child, wild, acid done / black sunglasses shade the morning sun” go a few choice lyrics. Yeah, you’re quite the badass, Tom), even a solid hook can’t stave off disbelief at this band’s ego.

Indeed, it’s largely Meighan’s inability to deviate from his faux-Liam impression and limited range that reminds one that this is just another Kasabian record, for all its bells and whistles. Combine that with misfires like the predictably long “West Ryder Silver Bullet,” including the mandatory spooky spoken-word intro and Hollywood actress duet (Rosario Dawson contributing barely-there backup vocals) and the cringe-inducing sappiness of closer “Happiness.” Gentle ballad featuring soul-searching vocals by Pizzorno? Check. Handclaps? Check. Gospel singers to ram home the point that this is a seriously deep song? Check. A band that thinks they’re way better than they actually are? Quite possibly.

Like on every Kasabian record, there are some strong songs: for my money, there hasn’t been a better potential single than “Underdog” since “Reason Is Treason,” and when Kasabian do what they’re used to, like on first single “Fire,” or ape Oasis and their ‘60s forebears more or less perfectly (“Thick as Thieves”), this comes off as a pretty enjoyable record. But as a whole, West Ryder is just another Kasabian record, one with the requisite empty bravado of the falsely entitled and some seriously moronic lyrical posturing.

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By Rudy Klapper, June 2, 2009 12:00 pm

The Sounds – Crossing The Rubicon

New Line 2009

Rating: 4/10

Even almost thirty years later, new wave imitation remains the sincerest form of flattery. Every time I hear an up-and-coming band mimicking the sounds of that glorious ‘80s heyday of synthtastic pop, buoyed by lyrics of forlorn romance and bubbly keyboards, it’s more often than not a reminder of just how much better the original John Hughes soundtracks were. Sure, there’s bands that do it remarkably well; just check out M83’s last magnum opus for a treatise on how to give the ‘80s a proper homage. Then there are bands like Sweden’s the Sounds, fronted by an icy blonde from the Great White North with definite sex appeal and a band with all the requisite amount of hipness. Their debut ’03 album Living in America was a standard slice of faded jean indie rock that garnered them the appropriate amount of blogosphere hype, and its follow-up was marginally better but added few tricks to the band’s rather small bag of tricks.

It should come as little surprise, then, that the Sounds have generally refused to change things up on their third effort, the misleadingly titled Crossing The Rubicon. A point of no return? A definitive artistic statement that they will forever be known for? Rubicon is hardly either of these, although I suppose it’s hard to think of the Sounds without thinking of the completely average tales of love and loss they put on display here. Opener “No One Sleeps When I’m Awake” is an acceptable lead single, riding a catchy guitar riff and a background of shiny synthesizers behind vocalist Maja Ivarsson’s charismatic vocals. Even better is the syncopated power chords of “4 Songs & A Fight,” with an ascending chorus and another powerful performance by Ivarsson, who is easily the highlight of this band’s show.

After these two post-punk gems that make up with genuinely addictive hooks what they lack in originality, the Sounds drag out the synths to the front of the stage for the ridiculously cheesy sounding “My Lover” which belies its relentlessly cheery music with lyrics about what seems like domestic abuse. The Blondie impersonations get even worse on the embarrassing “Beatbox,” where Ivarsson does her best/worst “Rapture” imitation, with lyrics like “tried to move my feet up and down / but the DJ sucked I’m stuck to the ground” and “tell me do you feel it?” Sadly, I didn’t.

Indeed, Rubicon largely succeeds on the performance of their lead singer. When the lyrics are lackluster or saccharine, like on “Lost In Love” (“I believe in this fire burning inside of me”) or when the music is unforgivably generic new wave, like the bland “Home Is Where The Heart Is” or the mushy, over-produced “Midnight Sun,” no amount of Ivarsson’s distinctive pipes can make a difference. Occasionally, they even make it worse, something I first noticed on “4 Songs & A Fight” but even more so on a disaster like “Underground” – with her accent and teen romance subject matter, Ivarsson (I swear to God) reminds me of Miley Cyrus. Sometimes it’s almost uncanny.

When the Sounds do strike the right note in between slavish ‘80s devotion and modern indie rock, they craft some beautiful tunes. But the pluses, like the haunting title track and the epic “Dorchester Hotel,” are few and far between. By the time one slogs through the unnecessary closing instrumental, remarkable only for its utter lack of climax, it’s easy to forget what made new wave great. It’s possible to flatter so much that a band loses their own identity, and with Crossing The Rubicon, the Sounds have continued to establish themselves as merely lesser copies of their idols.

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By Rudy Klapper, May 26, 2009 12:00 pm

Phoenix – Wolfgang Amadeus Phoenix

V2 Records 2009

Rating: 9/10

Phoenix has been chugging along dutifully for years ever since their taste-making role in Lost in Translation’s soundtrack, but fame has continued to elude the French foursome.  Lost in Translation wasn’t Garden State, and Phoenix certainly isn’t the Shins, but despite Phoenix’s ability to churn out irresistibly catchy pop singles, those same singles have never managed to translate into pop success. Maybe something was lost in translation over the Atlantic (sorry, I had to), but Wolfgang Amadeus Phoenix, their 4^th major label effort, offers more than enough quirky synth-rock to finally give the band a hit on American shores.

The one-two punch of first single “Lisztomania” and “1901” that opens the record is the kind of combo that could prevent the rest of the album from being heard. Both are bouncy slices of indie rock guaranteed to get feet tapping: “Lisztomania” rides a jittery beat and vocalist Thomas Mars’ oscillating vocals to a chorus perfectly memorable and perfectly simple, while “1901” mixes buzzing synths with a jangly chorus and a Mars’ echoing refrain of “fallin’” that begs to be sung along to.

Previous listeners of Phoenix will find little difference initially between Wolfgang and their 2006 work, It’s Never Been Like That.  While most of Wolfgang retains Phoenix’s relentless energy and effervescent melodies, the album as a whole feels more fleshed out, more organic sounding than INBLT, which at times sounded mechanical and clashing. “Fences” switches between a down-tempo disco groove and Mars’ falsetto verses to a keyboard-heavy chorus with yet another on-the-money chorus, while on a song like “Lasso,” Mars sounds more focused and natural than ever before, his habit of over-enunciating lessened and his versatile range exploited nicely. Speaking of “Lasso,” not only does it have one of the best choruses on the record, the drums at the beginning always remind me of “Down With The Sickness.” Very odd.

Perhaps most importantly, Wolfgang comes off as a very vibrant, modern-sounding record. Songs like the “Love Like A Sunset” duo and “Big Sun” sound like the stereophonic equivalent of a rainbow, full-bodied compositions that embrace a Wall-of-Sound production style but maintain Phoenix’s dedication to keeping it relatively danceable, resulting in something fresh in the group’s rather tired oeuvre. “Love Like A Sunset,” in particular, is about as experimental as Phoenix are likely to get, the first part coming off as what a band like Explosions in the Sky might sound like with a more defined sense of rhythm and an interest in ‘80s pop while the second resolves all the tension in a potent wave of major-key harmonies.

“Rome” follows in much the same vein as “Love Like A Sunset,” matching a sparkling layer of sound and the album’s best lyrics together into Wolfgang’s most fully realized tune. The metaphor of Rome’s downfall with the end of a relationship paired with the shimmering cascade of guitar make the song an obvious highlight.

The only nagging problem with the record, and it’s one with Phoenix’s discography in general, is the lyrical content, which is more often than not nonsensical and incomprehensible. “Lisztomania” opens up with Mars yelping “so sentimental / not sentimental no! / romantic not disgusting yet / darling I’m down and lonely,” while the chorus cryptically continues “think less but see it grow . . . I’m not easily offended / it’s not hard to let it go / from a mess to the masses.” English not being their first language, though, it’s hard not to forgive the band and instead admire Mars’ frequently clever vocal stylings.

After the epic productions of “Rome” and “Big Sun,” the closing songs almost seem to pale in comparison. “Girlfriend” is an acceptable pop/rock ditty that, on its own, would be a well above-average song on any band’s record, but at the tail end of this one, brings nothing new to the table. Closer “Armistice” boasts some nifty drum work and another excellent chorus breakdown, but its abrupt ending and overall sameness seems like an ill-fitting conclusion to such a stunning album.

And stunning it is. Wolfgang Amadeus Phoenix is surely the high point of this band’s decade-long career, a finely-crafted, tightly-performed collection of concise, vivid dance-rock that rarely misses a beat and shows Phoenix willing to grow beyond the structural boundaries they seemed to impose on themselves with It’s Never Been Like That. Who says France never gave us anything good?

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By Rudy Klapper, April 28, 2009 12:00 pm

The Veils – Sun Gangs

Rough Trade 2009

Rating: 8/10

The Veils are one of those bands where one really can’t believe they’re still just as relatively unknown as they were when they released their debut, The Runaway Found, in 2004. Kiwi Finn Andrews and his original band crafted a delicate, haunting collection of indie rock that found its way onto hit shows like One Tree Hill, but the band never took off and disagreements disbanded it shortly thereafter. 2006’s Nux Vomica was even more under the radar, with Andrews collecting a new, talented group to share his raw lyrical outbursts and instantly recognizable vocals. It was also one of the best albums of the year and still a perennially underrated favorite of mine.

Sun Gangs still finds the band on Rough Trade, surprising considering their continuing lack of success, but the Veils’ penchant for sharp guitar melodies, affecting acoustic slow-burners, and Andrews’ inimitable vocals and nakedly emotional lyrics remain just as fine-tuned as ever before. Opener “Sit Down By The Fire” is vintage Veils, opening with a gentle piano/guitar riff and Andrews’ compelling, Nick Cave-y voice. Lyrically it starts off a bit rusty, with more than a few forced rhymes and cringe-inducing heart-on-your-sleeve sentiments (“just say you don’t love me anymore”), but when the bluesy bridge kicks in and Andrews intones “some day / a little rain is bound to fall,” it’s clear that the Veils haven’t lost a step yet.

The following title song is a gentle piano dirge that alternates between optimism and self-pity, with the controlled vocals as the main attraction. It’s placement on the album, however, is more than a little odd, stilting any momentum the surging “Sit Down By The Fire” generated at its end, and the climactic crescendo seemingly promised in the last third never arrives.

Highlight single “The Letter” quickly dispels the gloom, however, supported by a descending, chiming guitar melody that swiftly sticks in the head and featuring a sonic blast of a chorus that coats itself in waves of reverb and Andrews’ piercing howl leading the way through. “The Letter” kicks off a run of the album’s best, most notably the fierce “Killed By The Boom” and the reflective blues of “It Hits Deep.” The former recalls Nux Vomica’s “Jesus For The Jugular” with its distorted rip current of a guitar line and Andrews’ anguished, throat-tearing screams. It’s the only song on the record that approaches the best of the sonic nastiness of their sophomore effort, and Andrews’ performance is that of a man possessed. “It Hits Deep,” meanwhile, is the kind of gradual, poignant buildup that the Veils have mastered and that their singer has made his trademark, creating the same kind of tension that the title track mustered and releasing it all in a sing-a-long ending that is restrained and cathartic at the same time.

The rollicking rock of family tragedy “Three Sisters” is pulsating, fist-pumping guitar glory in its finest with the kind of primal lament Andrews has made his own, while upbeat “The House She Lived In” is a complete 180-degree turn into regretful ‘60s Brill Building pop and typically emotive lyrics. Both are excellent examples of the Veils’ versatility and Andrews’ consistently passionate lyrical talents.

“Scarecrow,” unfortunately, is also a fantastic example of what drags the Veils down, namely plodding metaphorical ballads that threaten to go somewhere but never really develop from what they started off as. The dangerously long (eight-and-a-half minute) “Larkspur,” however, is a microcosm of the Veils’ oeuvre as a whole, taking the band’s mastery of the crescendo to the extreme. It’s an interesting illustration of the band’s bread-and-butter, a slowly rising boil of fuzzy distortion and Andrews’ undeniable charisma, but it is neither gripping nor innovative enough to merit such an extended running time.

The band ends, as they tend to do, on the soft, contemplative notes of “Begin Again,” merely Andrews and a commanding piano framing a fairly clichéd “start anew” lesson. While the record ends with a disappointing whimper, Andrews and his supporting cast have made another worthy addition to the band’s neglected discography, one that fails to match the epic indie rock ‘n poetry of Nux Vomica but one that more than stands up on its own, with some of Andrews’ most vehement showings and eloquent lyrics. One can only hope that they’ll be able to continue doing what they do best, and damn the sales.

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By Rudy Klapper, April 21, 2009 12:00 pm

Camera Obscura – My Maudlin Career

4AD 2009

Rating: 8/10

Camera Obscura is good at what they do. Fans of the band and even casual listeners can easily attest to this after the magnum opus that was 06’s Let’s Get Out Of This Country, where frontwoman Tracyanne Campbell and fellow Scots bandmates gave themselves over to Lloyd Cole and looked very much like the successors to Belle & Sebastian’s eminently catchy brand of twee-pop. It becomes clear right out of the gate that, with My Maudlin Career, their success has in no way put a damper on their talents – Campbell still has that slightly accented purr down pat, a sexy and sweet mix between Jenny Lewis and Victoria Bergsman, and the band’s orchestrated ‘60s pop/folk keeps chugging cheerfully along no matter how downcast Campbell sounds.

And make no mistake about it; My Maudlin Career is a darker record than Country, although you wouldn’t know it from the delightful opener and first single “French Navy.” Where countrymen Belle & Sebastian made their mark via clever turns of phrase and sly, smart lyrical conventions, Camera Obscura are romantics at heart, using a bouncy string-backed beat to frame convictions of love like “I was waiting to be struck by lightning / waiting for somebody exciting” before bursting into a four-on-the-floor chorus replete with arching, ascending strings as a yearning Campbell sings “I wanted to control it  / but love, I couldn’t hold it.” It’s the catchiest, most straightforward song on the record, the band’s corollary to Country’s excellent “Lloyd, I’m Ready To Be Heartbroken.” Obscura’s well-toned pop hooks are sunk even deeper on the following “The Sweetest Thing,” where the contrast between Campbell’s heartsick lyrics and the upbeat, sing-a-long chorus is highlighted and makes a deceptively simple song into a thing of tragic beauty.

The band pumps the brakes a bit on the following tunes, starting with the country-flavored question of “You Told A Lie” and continuing with the atmospheric melancholy balladry of  “Away With Murder.” Campbell is alternately scathing and self-deprecating, asking “are my eyes the coldest blue?” and then singing worriedly “I don’t know what I’ll do  / cause I’m stuck with them / and they’re stuck on you” on the former. “Away With Murder,” meanwhile, coats itself in layers of echoes and gentle acoustic accompaniment while Campbell bemoans “I’ve been lonely too, like you / I’m just like you” along a tale of hard touring.

While songs like the jangly pop of “Swans” and the elegant guitar-vocal interplay of closer “Honey In The Sun” prove that the band long ago knew how to craft a brilliant hook and that the production is generally spot-on, it’s songs like the understated “Away With Murder” and the powerful emotion of “James” that truly make My Maudlin Career shine. Camera Obscura are at their best when Campbell is using the full range of her vocals, evoking a variety of feelings while carrying the melody while the band’s arrangements take a back seat. Even when the lyrics don’t match the strength of the music, such as on the tear-in-your-beer country misery of “Forest and Sands,” it’s Campbell’s ability to carry a tune and connect that make up for any missteps.

Occasionally the band drop a dud that even Campbell can’t save, like the inadvisable faux-acapella of “Other Towns & Cities,” a sparse combo of dreamy guitar and reverb-soaked vocals that goes nowhere and stays there. And while songs like the title track, where Campbell croons “this maudlin career has come to an island / I don’t want to be sad again” might make one think she’s had enough of all this singing about heartbreak, it only takes one listen to the expertly crafted layers of “Honey In The Sun” and its bombastic, joyous horn section to put one at ease. Despite all of Campbell’s attempts to “become as cold as ice,” Camera Obscura is still a band reveling in the ability of bright, warm chamber-pop to dispel away the gloom.

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By Rudy Klapper, April 21, 2009 12:00 pm

Tinted Windows – Tinted Windows

S-Curve Records 2009

Rating: 6/10

If Tinted Windows was an actual child instead of four men’s mad musical creation, it would no doubt have a very hard time staying still and restraining it’s emotions, not to mention its surefire penchant for sweets. Tinted Windows debut doesn’t come packaged with a free sample of Ritalin, but I wouldn’t have been surprised; this amalgam of power-pop experts keeps the tempos in high gear, the guitars crunchy and sharp, and the vocals full of harmonic “who-wohs” custom-built for infectious sing-a-longs.

Lead-off single “Kind Of A Girl” is a perfect microcosm of the Tinted Windows experience and the album as a whole:  a churning, workmanlike guitar line by former Smashing Pumpkins’ and current A Perfect Circle axe-man James Iha, buttressed by the surging drums of Cheap Trickster Bun E. Carlos, framing some deliciously arcing vocals by Taylor Hanson (!), all the product of Fountains of Wayne wordsmith Adam Schlesinger and his deviously simple verse/chorus lyrical machinations. That was a long and complicated sentence, but “Kind Of A Girl” is nothing if not the picture of brevity, ‘60s pop mixed with the electric sensibilities of late ‘90s alternative into the stereotypical 3-minute single. Does it work? As anyone familiar with the band member’s respective histories, it should come as no surprise that it comes off like a charm.

Tinted Windows follows the formula of “Kind Of A Girl” to a tee, with the up-and-down verses and hints of falsetto in “Messing With My Head” leading into the faux-ballad of “Dead Serious” and its stadium-sized hook. After the sugar rush of the relentlessly energetic “Can’t Get A Read On You” and the chiming, echo-laden “I-want-you-back-so-bad” cliché of “Back With You,” however, one begins to wonder if this is maybe the only gear Tinted Windows knows how to roll with.

The songs on Tinted Windows can quite easily be categorized into two genres. The first is the heavily-produced pop/rock ballad, as seen in the aforementioned “Back With You,” “Dead Serious,” or the very ‘90s-sounding “Doncha Wanna.” The rest, and the majority, can only be distinguished by a generally higher tempo and more affected vocals from Hanson (I get nostalgic shivers every time I write that). “Kind Of A Girl” is an admirable, if not earthshakingly great, power-pop gem, and so are many of the following tunes here, but there comes a point where Tinted Windows reaches a clear sugar overload.

One might think this could have been avoided looking at Tinted Windows’ pedigrees, but, like so many “supergroups” before them (Audioslave, Velvet Revolver, A Perfect Circle post-Mer de Noms), they often come off as less than the sum of their parts. Hanson knows his way around a pop song, distancing himself from “MMMbop” while at the same time establishing a modicum of rock credibility, but his material is substandard. Schlesinger, the writer of so many clever turns of phrase and deceptively fluid hooks with Fountains of Wayne and others, too often turns to tired banalities like “nothing’s gonna last / “we’re just going fast” or “when you call my name / it’s like a light out of the blue.” And Iha and Carlos just seems to be going through the motions for much of the album, the occasional lick or solo just seeming out of place. Of course, when Iha actually asserts himself, like on the excellent “Nothing To Me,” it’s a teasing taste of what could’ve been.

For a bit of meaningless springtime fun, Tinted Windows is just the perfect prescription, a melodically accomplished record with a terrific ear for a hook and little substance beyond commonplace boy-girl love. Just don’t take it on a road trip any longer than an hour; like candy, Tinted Windows are a taste one would be well advised to enjoy in small doses.

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By Rudy Klapper, March 31, 2009 12:00 pm

Flo Rida – R.O.O.T.S.

Atlantic 2009

Rating: 4/10

The possessor behind arguably one of the hip-hop world’s best aliases, Tramar Dillard has been making club music for years since his teenage days with 2 Live Crew, but it was only until last year’s Mail on Sunday and the titanic single “Low” that Flo Rida became a household name. A little over a year later and now we have Routes of Overcoming The Struggle, or R.O.O.T.S., a record with a heavy name that is hardly reflective of its party nature.

Flo Rida will never be accused of being a serious artist, but him and his army of producers, which includes Timbaland, Danja, and will.i.am, know how to make a sick hit. The opening duo of “Finally Here” and “Jump” are two of the bounciest, accessible tunes on the record, the first quite effectively setting the tone of the record with its TGIF vibe and the later benefiting from a quirky electro hook and Nelly Furtado’s spot-on chorus.

Truly, what R.O.O.T.S. stands for is hardly an appropriate title for what is, at its core, a party record. A more appropriate one might have been B.S.T.S.M. (Bangin’ Singles To Sell Millions), or track “Mind on My Money,” which brags about how Flo’s “pockets are swoll” on top of a beat that probably cost a fair amount itself. Songs like the reflective title track or closer “Rewind” are too bland or stereotypical to stand up next to the infectiously catchy would-be singles that surround them. Lyrics like “I can’t hate where I’m from / because where I’m from make me” or the immensely cheesy wave-your-lighters-in-the-air sentiments of “Rewind” (replete with arching orchestral backing and choir) pale in comparison to Flo Rida’s strengths: namely, songs to dance to.

By now you and everyone else in the country has heard first single “Right Round,” which swipes the melody from the notorious Dead or Alive song, and it is these kind of club bangers that make R.O.O.T.S. a worthy record for a few spins on the dance floor, if nothing else. Although tracks like the nearly unbelievable “Sugar,” which is about as vapid as its name suggests, might make one imagine they’re listening to Lady GaGa, there’s enough future hits, from the techno-y “Touch Me” to requisite ballad “Be On You” (featuring, of course, Ne-Yo), to maintain Flo’s image.

Flo Rida has said that “there’s definitely something for everybody on this album” in an interview with Billboard, and this is undoubtedly true. But in his attempt to please everyone, R.O.O.T.S. denies the rapper any possibility of making an album that truly excels. Flo Rida is a competent lyricist and has enough money to cherry-pick any producer he should choose, and so it’s a bit disheartening to see him follow the same route that Mail on Sunday did: focusing on the cash potential of a predictable hit single. But then again, the two million-plus people who have already purchased “Right Round” can hardly be wrong, can they?

Originally published in the Daily Trojan.

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By Rudy Klapper, March 31, 2009 12:00 pm

Yeah Yeah Yeahs – It’s Blitz!

Interscope 2009

Rating: 9/10

The Yeah Yeah Yeahs have been more than adept at keeping themselves a fresh commodity since they hit the NYC dance-punk scene in the early part of the millennial decade, their three albums over six years each showing a steady progression and evolution in the trio’s distinctive sound. It’s Blitz! is, predictably, like nothing the band has done before, trading in the raucous guitar assault of their debut and the more acoustic sounds of sophomore effort Show Your Bones for . . . disco?

Well, not quite. While the Yeah Yeah Yeahs have discovered a newfound appreciation for synthesizers and tasty backbeats on It’s Blitz!, the band remains focused on well-crafted melodies, Karen O’s distinctive vocals, and an appreciation for an undeniably organic sound that belies the electronica they put to excellent use here. Opener “Zero” starts off with a buzzing synth line and pulsating keyboards framing Karen O’s effortless exhortations to “put your leather on.” The song’s graceful climax and smorgasbord of perfectly out-of-place blips and glitches perhaps make the song a challenging proposition to long-term fans, but its icy beauty and irresistibly catchy chorus, where Nick Zinner’s guitar blares out in all its distorted glory, bode well for what follows.

And what follows is easily the best opening sequence Yeah Yeah Yeahs have put together. “Heads Will Roll” balances a menacing disco beat and O’s frantic message to “dance ‘til you’re dead” with a chorus and stinging hook that drag you in and don’t let go, while “Soft Shock” dials back the energy without letting up on the band’s flowing pop sensibility and O’s uncomplicated vocals. For a singer who has built her reputation on the foundations of riot-grrl imagery and gritty New York punk, Karen O is unusually at ease here, her voice able to sound naturally in command or vulnerable at points without coming off as too affected.

Such an opening trifecta would be hard for any band to live up to, so it comes as little surprise that It’s Blitz! dies down a bit in the middle. “Skeletons” takes the whole electronica shtick to an unnecessary level, washing the song in ambient noise and out-of-place string bits that make a threadbare song a needless slow burner, one that lacks the heart of the epic the band obviously wants it to be. Follow-up “Dull Life” is marginally better, but its up-tempo rhythm and needling guitar sound more out-of-place than anything else on the record, and the song’s unusually strict adherence to standard verse-chorus-verse structure cause it to be fairly unremarkable.

But when you’re nitpicking songs because they seem “too standard” or “out-of-place,” it’s because everything else is so damned good. The spooky synths and funky guitar of “Dragon Queen” impeccably mesh O’s airy, sexy vocals with the tune’s seductive disco strut, and the impressive rock showcase that is “Shame and Fortune” prove that Karen O is hardly the reason for the band’s success – just take a listen to Zinner’s wicked fuzz-guitar riffing in the outro.

And that’s saying nothing about the two gorgeous ballads that close It’s Blitz!, “Hysteric” and “Little Shadows.” The former has been declared the best song on the record by numerous critics, and for good reason: it’s dreamy, hazy electro-rock vibe combined with O’s most personal, earnest lyrics of Yeah Yeah Yeah’s career make the song a love letter to match 2003’s “Maps” and possibly overtake it. O’s gentle serenade of the chorus, “flow sweetly, hang heavy / you suddenly complete me, you suddenly complete me” complete the Yeah Yeah Yeahs’ transformation from frosty punk rockers to empathetic pop auteurs.

“Little Shadows” is an atmospheric lullaby that closes the record as you’d expect it to be closed, with a placid sigh rather than a bang, a sublime, reflective summation of the album. “Gentle;” “reflective;” “lullaby;” these are hardly words I would have associated with Yeah Yeah Yeahs a few years ago, but given the band’s penchant for change, it’s not as surprising as it might be for some of their class-of-’03 peers like, say, the Strokes.

“Change or die” has often been a wise maxim to live by, and none have done it as well as the Yeah Yeah Yeahs. Zinner’s characteristic guitar methods, drummer Brian Chase’s rock-steady beats, and, most of all, Karen O’s simple, relatable lyrics and practiced vocals have given the band repeated leases on life, and with It’s Blitz!, the Yeah Yeah Yeahs look poised to enter a new decade as strongly as they roared into this one. We still have eight months to go in 2009, but already this year is shaping up to end the decade in brilliant musical style.

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By Rudy Klapper, March 24, 2009 12:00 pm

Slim Thug – Boss of all Bosses

Koch Records 2009

Rating: 5/10

Houston rapper Slim Thug is a Texan through-and-through; from his Dirty South lyrics, huge, driving beats that pound subwoofers relentlessly, husky basso threats, and even the nearly nine-minute long opus that closes his new record, everything about Slim is big – and, him being from Texas, that should really come as no surprise. Boss of all Bosses is a stereotypical Southern rap record that is just what you’d expect from him, for better or worse, drawing all the best and worst from Slim’s heritage and influences into a sometimes vibrant, sometimes stale collection of modern drug-and-G hip-hop.

Slim Thug comes from what I’ve come to call as the “Rick Ross School of Rap,” although Ross is certainly not the originator of it: bass-heavy, thumping rap that concerns itself wholeheartedly with such pertinent social issues as cocaine, women, and fellow thugs. Slim calls himself the “Big Boss of the South,” (as well as “Big Boss of the North,” a somewhat paradoxical reference to his Houston neighborhood), a moniker I’m sure Ross himself would take issue with, but on Boss of all Bosses Slim is certainly in control.

Surging through the title track’s grand opening timpani, his distinctive voice takes control immediately amidst a back-and-forth synth line and harsh strings. His style is not particularly fluid or technically accomplished, but it is clear and persistent, the force of his rather large personality imposing itself on song after song, from “I’m Back”’s typical “I-do-it-for-the-hood” bravado to the blunt lifestyle description of “Thug.”

However, for all of Slim’s listenable verses and who’s-who of Houston guest list (UGK, Paul Wall, and Chamillionaire all make appearances), the album comes off as unnaturally flat, and the running time of nearly an hour ends up seeming much longer than it actually is. And while the record starts off strong, with first single “I Run,” which benefits from an excellently cheesy Flock of Seagulls sample, and the twinkling electronics of “Smile” proving to be enduring highlights, Slim proceeds to dip into a monotony of money and bitches that turns the middle into a tedious morass of tired rap clichés.

If Boss of all Bosses has a real problem, it’s Slim’s inability to truly distinguish himself. For a rapper whose been around as long as he has, it’s surprising to think that this is only his second album, but one listen confirms that Slim is indeed best suited for what he’s built his name on: mix-tapes and guest spots, where he can come in and provide a contrary, easily identifiable presence. The faux slow jam “My Bitch,” the obligatory street-hustle soul of “Associates,” the minimalist rapid-fire verses of “Leanin’” – Slim and his subjects are neither exciting nor interesting enough to maintain a long-term interest, and the production, while competent, is nothing revolutionary to bolster such standard fare.

Slim Thug is a talented rapper to be sure, but with Boss of all Bosses he does little to rise above his peers in the Houston scene, much less the Dirty South. Nowhere is this more easily seen than in closer “Welcome 2 Houston,” an idea that seems good on paper (a collection of about a dozen rappers from Slim’s ‘hood trading verses back and forth) but ends up a horrible exercise (it’s an eternally long nine minutes long), where Slim is lost in a number of voices more conspicuous than his. Slim can more than hold his own for a few choice minutes (“I Run,” the title track), but it’s become clear that the album road is not for this single specialist. 

Originally published in the Daily Trojan.

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By Rudy Klapper, March 24, 2009 12:00 pm

The Decemberists – The Hazards of Love

Capitol 2009

Rating: 8/10

It’s about time. For anyone familiar with Oregon-based baroque pop-rockers The Decemberists, the full-fledged rock/folk opera that is The Hazards of Love should come as no surprise; rather, I’m more than a little startled that this hadn’t happened sooner. While the band has flirted with LP-length storylines before, from their earlier EP The Tain to 2006’s The Crane Wife, this is their first attempt at that most conceited of rock conceits, the rock opera, a genre that has laid waste to many a band before them (see: The Who, Tommy).

Coming from singer and lyricist Colin Meloy, whose written songs about ancient Japanese myths and poor chimbley sweeps in Industrial Revolution-era England often require the aid of a dictionary, The Hazards of Love is the logical progression in the band’s oeuvre. An epic seventeen songs separated only by the fact of their names (the album flows from one to the next with nary a pause; Meloy isn’t kidding when he said he first started the record as a musical), the story is your typical Decemberists yarn: fair young lass Margaret gets pregnant via her lover, William, some sort of forest shapeshifter, adventure ensues as Margaret goes into the forest to find him, encountering a forest queen and a backstabbing scoundrel along the way, until the two lovers die in predictable Shakespearean fashion. Sondheim he’s not.

The story may be threadbare, but the music is decidedly alive, and the Decemberists have not let the lyrical meanderings of their leader to bog down their songwriting. Indeed, much of The Hazards of Love is some of their strongest material in years, although with seventeen tracks, there are bounds to be a few missteps. The folk strumming, gentle finger picking, and rustic lyrics of “Hazards of Love 1” could’ve come off any earlier Decemberists record, but it’s not until the country-rock, piano-pounding twang of “Won’t Want for Love” that the album comes into its own musically.

Do yourself a favor and ignore whatever part of the story Meloy is trying to sell you; it’s the compositions that steal the figurative show here, although when the two coincide, it makes for some of the best highlights of the record. The epic “The Wanting Comes in Waves / Repaid,” featuring My Brightest Diamond’s Shara Worden (guest spots being a newfound discovery for the Decemberists, but a proper one for an ensemble endeavor as this), is an exciting, ascending climax of drum rolls, harpsichord, and arcing background harmonies before twisting into one of the most metal-tastic riffs they’ve ever put down as Worden’s powerful vocals announce the forest queen. The band does a good job of painting an emotive theme for each character; the aforementioned queen is dark and chugging, a rock monster that is as heavy and earthy as her namesake, while “The Rake” is a thudding, menacing tune with typical Decemberists lyrical fare (baby killing!) that corresponds well with its dastardly subject. Becky Stark of folksters Lavender Diamond does a passable job as the wispy heroine, and her love songs have just the right quality of innocence and medieval charm.

And this is the Decemberists, a band whose musical ingenuity and unbridled spirit of creativity the press has often overlooked. Just check out the very creepy children’s choir of “Hazards of Love 3,” or the damn-the-torpedoes full-speed rock throttle on display in “The Queen’s Rebuke / The Crossing.” That is one guitar solo I surely would never have seen coming from guitarist Chris Funk, and it shows just what this band is capable of: stretching their boundaries, testing their fans, and, most importantly, doing whatever the hell they want.

While a good portion of the record is certainly unnecessary, instrumental interludes or pointless reprisals meant to connect the story or provide a theatrical background, it does little to drag down the superior songs around them. Some might think The Hazards of Love is a record that must be listened to all at once, the better to appreciate its story, but that is definitely not the case: a song like “The Wanting Comes in Waves / Repaid” or the chameleonic “Annan Water” can stand on their own quite well.

That’s the beauty of what the Decemberists have done here, producing an album that was assuredly meant to tell a whole story but one that succeeds in bit pieces as well. Overblown and entirely ridiculous, sure, but the Decemberists never made any fans being coy: The Hazards of Love is the band at their histrionic, melodramatic, wildly fun best, and while it lacks some of the pop accessibility of their earlier work, it’s a record that can firmly take its place among indie rock’s greatest concept efforts.

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By Rudy Klapper, March 10, 2009 12:00 pm

Kelly Clarkson – All I Ever Wanted

RCA 2009

Rating: 7/10

Ever since winning the first season of that all-time favorite show of musical sadists, American Idol, Kelly Clarkson has been on a commercial spree of success unmatched by anyone else to come out of that program save for Carrie Underwood. Building her reputation as a slightly rebellious pop singer with a penchant for big choruses wasn’t exactly tough, given her admittedly extraordinary vocal talents and the publicity she received from being the first Idol champ. Her fourth album isn’t exactly anything new, little surprise coming from an artist who has been carefully managed since she stepped into the public’s eye, but it does sound an awful lot like Kelly Clarkson – something I doubt will stand in her way of selling another million or so records.

Whether it be because of the excellent producers around her, who include Ryan Tedder of OneRepublic and Swedish svengali Max Martin, or the accessible charm of her personality, Clarkson knows how to put out hits. To her credit, however, it’s largely Clarkson’s voice that allows such mundane hits as “Since You Been Gone” to this album’s bid for single-of-the-year, “My Life Would Suck Without You” to elevate onto a level of pop brilliance. Versatile and authentic, Clarkson is a pop star one can relate to, and it’s this combination of star power and power pipes that make “My Life Would Suck Without You” such a bouncy offering of electropop. Her voice soars at all the right places, the lyrics are the perfect mix of venom and love, and the humongous chorus practically begs to be sung along to. Sure, the production is worth a million bucks, but it is increasingly evident as All I Ever Wanted tools along that Clarkson remains the star.

Production, of course, cannot be totally ignored, and it’s telling that I could easily see more than half the album becoming platinum singles over the course of the year. From the self-respect anthem of “I Do Not Hook Up” to the pounding arena sound of “Don’t Let Me Stop You” to the glitchy dance groove of “If I Can’t Have You,” hits predictably abound. All I Ever Wanted is a generally brighter affair than her last release, 2007’s My December, but Clarkson’s ‘tude is more than evident on tunes such as the faux-punk of “Whyyouwannabringmedown” or that ubiquitous hit single mentioned above. And when the album sags, it’s more because of an ill-advised production choice or a momentum-stunting ballad, like the all-too standard weeper “Cry.”

Clarkson’s voice is undeniably big, and so it should come as no surprise that she’s at her best being backed up by an army of ringing guitars and a hard-hitting chorus. On songs like “Already Gone” and the synth-heavy “Impossible,” however, Tedder’s so-so production turns Clarkson into merely just another pop sing behind an interesting beat. And while a song like “Whyyouwannabringmedown” is a novelty on first listen, Clarkson’s fierce snarl belies the fairly tame, self-evident message. Just try to ignore the embarrassing U2-esque “uno dos tres” countdown that seems to come out of nowhere and the artificial guitar solo.

But the hits outnumber the misses here, and when Clarkson and co. get it right, the hook will be bouncing around in your head for weeks. Katy Perry-throwaway “Long Shot,” the sugar rush that is “I Want You,” the funky groove of the title track: Clarkson is definitely not in any danger of becoming irrelevant, and each of the above is a choice cut of modern pop, buoyed by one of the best voices in the business. Forget just for a moment that she was spawned by American Idol, and embrace one of the guiltier pleasures of this spring.

Originally published in the Daily Trojan