CDs

Stevie Wonder - Time 2 Love

During times of extreme political and social change, Stevie Wonder’s voice and songwriting served as cultural and spiritual guide posts to many a listener, often lending insight and a barometer with which to measure the ways of the world. But that was largely during the golden phase of his career, generally regarded as being the late ’60s through 1980’s Hotter Than July. His work in the mid ’80s through the ’90s was marginal in comparison, only hinting at glimpses of former brilliance, sugarcoated by overpolished production and radiofriendly content. So with a decade passing since his last fulllength, 1995’s Conversation Piece, people waited with baited breath for a sign of his return... and wondered which Wonder would show up: Would it be the socially conscious genius who wrote anthems for a generation, or the RB crooner that dominated quiet storm radio? Thankfully, it’s a blend of both. For every forwardmoving song with a theme, there’s a gentle moment of tranquility to cancel it out. Many of these songs, save for their warm and polished digital production values, could have easily found a home in Talking Book, Music of My Mind, or any of the other albums for which Wonder will forever be praised. In an age when the majority of RB is about money, drugs, infidelity or getting it on, Wonder’s lyrics (especially during the love songs) recall the simplicity and innocence of early Motown without sounding trite. It’s definitely a refreshing change of pace and hopefully something one or two aspiring producers and songwriters are paying attention to. These are love songs of maturity that are carefully crafted, which would more or less explain why it took nearly a decade to get them finalized, with many of them feeling like mature revisitations of the classics. (If "Happier Than the Morning Sun" and "Little Girl Blue" were a pair of teenagers in love, "Sweetest Somebody I Know" is that couple 30 years later at their class reunion.) The jazzy "How Will I Know," featuring Wonder’s daughter on lead vocals (the same Aisha sung about nearly 30 years ago on "Isn’t She Lovely"), is the gateway to the album’s second half, a fivesong cycle of ballads and quiet storm jams that will appease fans of Wonder’s later work. Especially notable is "My Love Is on Fire," featuring a beautiful guest appearance from jazz flautist Hubert Laws, which exemplifies the other thing that makes A Time to Love the comeback album of the year: the neverending list of celebrity cameo appearances so extensive it would make Carlos Santana and Clive Davis blush with modesty. Guest appearances from rap pioneer Doug E. Fresh, Bonnie Raitt, Sir Paul McCartney, Kim Burrell, Prince, Kirk Franklin and India.Arie just scratch the surface of who contributed to this record. It’s one Michael Jackson and one Lionel Richie cameo short from being a USA for Africa reunion. But while each artist lends their own style to the mix, the songs definitely remain 100percent Wonder thanks to his distinctive singing and arrangements. The album begins its landing with "So What the Fuss," a chunky block of funk with a distorted bass line. It served as the lead single and was met with surprisingly little fanfare, especially since it’s one of Wonder’s most straightahead slices of funk in some time. And the album’s title track serves as a fitting conclusion to the album, spreading Wonder’s message of love and peace as strongly and convincingly as any other song he’s ever done. On the whole, A Time to Love is the record Wonder fans have been waiting for, and the wait has more than paid off. Through exploration and balance, A Time to Love finds the two halves of Wonder’s adult career finally coming to home to roost in peaceful harmony with one another, and it’s one of the finest records he has...

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Franz Ferdinand - You Could Have It So Much Better

Opting not to fix what broke them, You Could Have It So Much Better serves up more of the stylish, angular sound that worked so well on Franz Ferdinand’s debut. After years of rehearsing in abandoned Glasgow warehouses and playing in relatively obscure groups like the Yummy Fur, it’s perfectly understandable why the band chose not to mess with a good thing and why they chose to follow up the breakthrough success of Franz Ferdinand so quickly. But, after a year and a half of nearinstant acclaim and constant touring, Franz Ferdinand return with songs that just aren’t as consistently good as the album that made them so successful in the first place. A lot of You Could Have It So Much Better feels like a superstylized caricature of the band’s sound, with exaggeratedly spiky guitars, brooding crooning, and punkyyetdanceable beats. This isn’t an entirely bad thing: "The Fallen" begins the album with a wicked, gleeful welcome back that embraces the jaunty mischief running through most of Franz Ferdinand’s best moments, while "I’m Your Villain" effortlessly nails the darkly sexy vibe they strived for on Franz Ferdinand. Meanwhile, the famous friends, arty parties, and "shocking" homoeroticism of "Do You Want To" which feels more like a victory lap than a comeback single play like knowing, tongueincheek selfparody. However, too many tracks on You Could Have It So Much Better are witty and energetic in the moment but aren’t especially memorable. "You’re the Reason I’m Leaving," "What You Meant," "This Boy," and the oddly anticlimactic finale, "Outsiders," are Franzlite not at all bad, but not as good as even their early Bsides and certainly not up to the level of "Take Me Out." What helps save the album from being completely predictable are slower moments like the pretty, jangly "Walk Away" and atmospheric, pianodriven songs such as "Fade Together" (which really should’ve been the final track). Best of all is "Eleanor Put Your Boots On," a gorgeous, Beatlesque ballad that suggests that if Franz Ferdinand have songs this good in them, they’re selling themselves, and their fans, short with most of the songs here (you could have it so much better, indeed). Not so much a sophomore slump as a rushed followup, You Could Have It So Much Better probably would’ve been better if Franz Ferdinand had waited until they had a batch of songs as consistent as their first album, but as it stands, it’s still pretty good. ~ Heather Phares, All Music Guide

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Coldplay - X&Y

After Radiohead stubbornly refused to accept the mantle of "world’s biggest and most important rock band" by releasing the willfully strange rocktronica fusion Kid A in 2000, Coldplay stepped up to the plate with their debut, Parachutes. Tasteful, earnest, introspective, anthemic, and grounded in guitars, the British quartet was everything Radiohead weren’t but what the public wanted them to be, and benefited from the Oxford quintet’s decision to abandon rock stardom for arcane art rock. Parachutes became a transatlantic hit and 2002’s sequel, A Rush of Blood to the Head, consolidated their success by being bigger and better than Parachutes, positioning Coldplay to not be just the new Radiohead, but the new U2: a band that belongs to the world but fans believe that the music is for them alone. To that end, Coldplay’s third album, XY slightly delayed so it follows Rush of Blood by nearly three years, but that’s no longer than the time separating OK Computer and Kid A, or The Unforgettable Fire and The Joshua Tree is designed to be the record that elevates Coldplay to the major leagues, where they are at once the biggest and most important band in the world. It’s deliberate and sleek, cinematic and pristine, hip enough to sample Kraftwerk and blend in fashionable retro’80s postpunk allusions without altering the band’s core. Indeed, XY is hardly a bold step forward, but rather a consolidation of Coldplay’s strengths, particularly their skill at crafting surging, widescreen epics. ~ Stephen Thomas Erlewine, All Music Guide

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Madonna - Confessions On A Dance Floor

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Kanye West - Late Registration

And then, in a flash, Kanye was everywhere, transformed from respected producer to bigname producer/MC, throwing a fit at the American Music Awards, performing "Jesus Walks" at the Grammys, wearing his diamondstudded Jesus piece, appearing on the cover of Time, running his mouth 24/7. One thing that remains unchanged is Kanye’s hunger, even though his head has swollen to the point where it could be separated from his body, shot into space, and considered a planet. Raised middle class, Kanye didn’t have to hustle his way out of poverty, the number one key to credibility for many hiphop fans, whether it comes to rapper turned rapping labelpresidents or suburban teens. And now that he has proved himself in another way, through his stratospheric success which also won him a gaggle of haters as passionate as his followers he doesn’t want to be seen as a novelty whose ambitions have been fulfilled. On Late Registration, he finds himself backed into a corner, albeit as king of the mountain. It’s a paradox, which is exactly what he thrives on. His followup to The College Dropout isn’t likely to change the minds of the resistant. As an MC, Kanye remains limited, with alltoofamiliar flows that weren’t exceptional to begin with (you could place a number of these rhymes over College Dropout beats). He uses the same lyrical strategies as well. Take lead single "Diamonds from Sierra Leone," in which he switches from boastful to rueful; more importantly, the conflict felt in owning blood diamonds will be lost on those who couldn’t afford one with years of combined income. Even so, he can be tremendous as a pure writer, whether digging up uncovered topics (as on "Diamonds") or spinning a clever line ("Before anybody wanted K. West’s beats, me and my girl split the buffet at KFC"). The production approach, however, is rather different from the debut. Crude beats and drastically temposhifted samples are replaced with a more traditionally musical touch from Jon Brion (Fiona Apple, Aimee Mann), who coproduces with West on most of the tracks. (Ironically, the Just Blazehelmed "Touch the Sky" tops everything laid down by the pair, despite its heavy reliance on Curtis Mayfield’s "Move on Up.") West and Brion are a good, if unlikely, match. Brion’s string arrangements and brass flecks add a new dimension to West’s beats without overshadowing them, and the results are neither too adventurous nor too conservative. While KRSOne was the first to proclaim, "I am hiphop," Kanye West might as well be the first MC to boldly state, "I am pop." ~ Andy Kellman, All Music Guide

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Missy Elliott - Cookbook

Critics and fans were praising Missy Elliott and Timbaland so much during 20022003 that the hottest production combo in hiphop may have started believing that a great production is synonomous with a great song. This Is Not a Test, her first major mistake, featured cuttingedge tracks in abundance, but virtually nothing in the way of heavyweight material. Its followup, The Cookbook, brings the focus back to Missy the rapper and songwriter, wisely (in most cases) leaving the productions to a more varied cast than any of her previous records. Ironically though, Elliott herself produced the lead single, "Lose Control," giving it a tight electro feel (courtesy of some vintage ’80s samples from Cybotron and Hot Streak). It’s only the first nod to the type of oldschool party jam that Elliott does better than ever here; "We Run This" resurrects the "Apache" break and a classic Sugarhill Gang track for one of the best club tunes of the year, Rich Harrison gives a bright, brassy production to another party song, "Can’t Stop," and "Irresistible Delicious" featuring Slick Rick sounds at least 15 years removed from contemporary rap (yes, that’s a good thing). In a few spots The Cookbook isn’t too far removed from This Is Not a Test Elliott forces a few rhymes, plays to type with her themes, and uses those outside producers to follow trends in hiphop (she could have easily accompanied a 12track record of her usual solid material with a watereddown "New Sounds in HipHop RB EP" that would kick off with the syrupy Houston retread "Click Clack," the Neptunes’ tired "On On," and the bland popidol duet "My Man" featuring Fantasia). What’s different here is how relaxed Elliott is, how willing she seems to simply go with what comes naturally and sounds best. "My Struggles" isn’t the myopic confessional suggested by the title, but an East Coast allstars jam that features one of her best raps ever and deftly switches in midstream to allow Mary J. Blige to reprise her "What’s the 411?" classic (to say nothing of Grand Puba’s verse). And the final track, "Bad Man," sees one of the most welcome collaborations seen in rap for some time, as Elliott joins dancehall heroes M.I.A. and Vybz Kartel (plus a drumline from Atlanta AT). ~ John Bush, All Music Guide

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Barbra Streisand - Guilty Pleasures

Guilty Pleasures isn’t simply the belated sequel to Guilty, Barbra Streisand’s 1980 collaboration with Barry Gibb. It’s the best mainstream pop album she’s made since that multiplatinum, charttopping hit. Of course, the competition isn’t exactly stiff her pop albums since then have been deliberately safe, overly calculated adult contemporary affairs that only made records of standards like 1985’s The Broadway Album shine all the brighter and it, like its predecessor, is a bit of an anomaly in Streisand’s catalog, since it shares more musical similarities with Barry Gibb’s work than Barbra’s own, yet there’s no denying that this is the most satisfying straightup pop album she’s cut since Guilty. In fact, apart from the crystalclear, overly clean digital production that immediately pegs it as a 2005 release, Guilty Pleasures could be taken as a bunch of outtakes from the 1980 album. Gibb, who wrote (along with a handful of other collaborators) and produced (along with John Merchant) the entire album, along with playing guitar and providing backup vocals, not only doesn’t attempt to update his signature sound, but proudly sticks to unfashionable pop styles like the early’80s anthemic soft rock of "Stranger in a Strange Land," the mellow Latintinged "Hideaway," and the disco of "Night of My Life." Yet instead of sounding like the work of a duo stuck in the past, Guilty Pleasures sounds as if Gibb has constructed a set of 11 songs that play to his strengths as a pop craftsman and Streisand’s strengths as an interpreter. This may be firmly within both of their comfort zones, but despite the record’s decidedly lowkey vibe, neither Barry nor Barbra sound lazy, nor do they sound like they have something to prove, as if they’re consciously trying to live up to the standard their first collaboration set. They sound relaxed and quietly assured, which makes this album far more charming than it might initially appear to be. Not everything works some of the ballads toward the end of the record are a little too hazy and samey to catch hold but most of the album holds its own with Guilty, which means this is not only a pleasant surprise, but one of Barbra’s best straightup mainstream pop records, and an album that surely lives up to its title. ~ Stephen Thomas Erlewine, All Music Guide

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Neil Diamond - 12 Songs

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The White Stripes - Get Behind Me Satan

According to Jack White, Get Behind Me Satan deals with "characters and the ideal of truth," but in truth, the album is just as much about what people expect from the White Stripes and what they themselves want to deliver. Advance publicity for the album stated that it was written on piano, marimba, and acoustic guitar, suggesting that it was going to be a quiet retreat to the band’s little room after the big sound, and bigger success, of Elephant. Then "Blue Orchid," Get Behind Me Satan’s lead single, arrived. A devilish slice of discometal with heavily processed, nearly robotic riffs, the song was thrilling, but also oddly perfunctory; it felt almost like a caricature of their strippeddown but hardhitting rock. As the opening track for Get Behind Me Satan, "Blue Orchid" is more than a little perverse, as though the White Stripes are giving their audience the required rock single before getting back to that little room, locking the door behind them, and doing whatever the hell they want. Even Jack White’s work on the Cold Mountain soundtrack and Loretta Lynn’s Van Lear Rose isn’t adequate preparation for how farflung this album is: Get Behind Me Satan is a weird, compelling collection that touches on several albums’ worth of sounds, and its first four songs are so different from most of the White Stripes’ previous music as well as from each other that, at first, they’re downright disorienting. As if the red herring that is "Blue Orchid" isn’t enough warning that Get Behind Me Satan is designed to defy expectations, "The Nurse"’s ironically perky marimbas and offkilter stabs of drums and guitar not to mention lyrics like "the nurse should not be the one who puts salt in your wounds" make its domestic skulduggery one of the most perplexing and eerie songs the White Stripes have ever recorded (although Meg’s brief cameo, "Passive Manipulation," which boasts the refrain "you need to know the difference between a father and a lover," rivals it). "My Doorbell," on the other hand, is almost ridiculously immediate and catchy, and with its skipping beat and brightly bashed pianos, surprisingly funky. Meanwhile, "Forever for Her (Is Over for Me)" turns cleverly structured wordplay and those fluttering marimbas into a summery, affecting ballad. <br>But despite Get Behind Me Satan’s hairpin turns, its inspired imagery and complicated feelings about love hold it together. Though "the ideal of truth" sounds cutanddried, the album is filled with ambiguities; even its title, which shortens the biblical phrase "get thee behind me Satan," has a murky meaning is it support, or deliverance, from Lucifer that the Stripes are asking for? There are pleading rockers, like the alternately begging and accusatory "Red Rain," and defiant ballads, like "I’m Lonely (But I’m Not That Lonely Yet)," which has a stubborn undercurrent despite its archetypal, tearinmybeer country melody. Even Get Behind Me Satan’s happiestsounding song, the joyfully backwoods "Little Ghost," is haunted by loving someone who might not have been there in the first place. The ghostly presence of Rita Hayworth also plays a significant part on the album, on "White Moon" and the excellent "Take, Take, Take," a sharply drawn vignette about greed and celebrity: over the course of the song, the main character goes from just being happy to hanging out with his friends in a seedy bar to demanding a lock of hair from the screen siren. As eclectic as Get Behind Me Satan is, it isn’t perfect: the energy dips a little in the middle, and it’s notable that "Instinct Blues," one of the more traditionally Stripessounding songs, is also one of the least engaging. Though Jack and Meg still find fresh,...

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Gorillaz - Demon Days

Damon Albarn went to great pains to explain that the first Gorillaz album was a collaboration between him, cartoonist Jamie Hewlett, and producer Dan the Automator, but any sort of pretense to having the virtual pop group seem like a genuine collaborative band was thrown out the window for the group’s longawaited 2005 sequel, Demon Days. Hewlett still provides new animation for Gorillaz although the proposed featurelength film has long disappeared but Dan the Automator is gone, leaving Albarn as the unquestioned leader of the group. This isn’t quite similar to Blur, a genuine band that faltered after Graham Coxon decided he had enough, leaving Damon behind to construct the muddled Think Tank largely on his own. No, Gorillaz were always designed as a collective, featuring many contributors and producers, all shepherded by Albarn, the songwriter, mastermind, and ringleader. Hiding behind Hewlett’s excellent cartoons gave Albarn the freedom to indulge himself, but it also gave him focus since it tied him to a specific concept. Throughout his career, Albarn always was at his best when writing in character to the extent that anytime he wrote confessionals in Blur, they sounded stagy and Gorillaz not only gave him an ideal platform, it liberated him, giving him the opportunity to try things he couldn’t within the increasingly dour confines of Blur. It wasn’t just that the cartoon concept made for light music on the first Gorillaz album, Damon sounded as if he were having fun for the first time since Parklife. But 2005 is a much different year than 2001, and if Gorillaz exuded the heady, optimistic, futureforward vibes of the turn of the millennium, Demon Days is as theatrically foreboding as its title, one of the few pop records made since 9/11 that captures the eerie unease of living in the 21st century. Not really a cartoony feel, in other words, but Gorillaz indulged in doom and gloom from their very first single, "Clint Eastwood," so this is not unfamiliar territory, nor is it all that dissimilar from the turgid moodiness of Blur’s 2003 Think Tank. But where Albarn seemed simultaneously constrained and adrift on that last Blur album attempting to create indie rock, yet unsure how since messiness contradicts his tightly wound artistic impulses he’s assured and masterful on Demon Days, regaining his flair for grand gestures that served him so well at the height of Britpop, yet tempering his tendency to overreach by keeping the music lean and evocative through his enlistment of electronica maverick Danger Mouse as producer. <br>Demon Days is unified and purposeful in a way Albarn’s music hasn’t been since The Great Escape, possessing a cinematic scope and a narrative flow, as the curtain unveils to the ominous, morose "Last Living Souls" and then twists and winds through valleys, detours, and wrong paths some light, some teeming with dread before ending up at the haltingly hopeful title track. Along the way, cameos float in and out of the slipstream and Albarn relies on several familiar tricks: the Specials are a touchstone, brooding minor key melodies haunt the album, there are some singalong refrains, while a celebrity recites a lyric (this time, it’s Dennis Hopper). Instead of sounding like musical crutches, this sounds like an artist who knows his strengths and uses them as an anchor so he can go off and explore new worlds. Chief among the strengths that Albarn relies upon is his ability to find collaborators who can articulate his ideas clearly and vividly. Danger Mouse, whose Grey Album mashup of the Beatles and JayZ was an underground sensation in 2004, gives this music an elasticity and creeping darkness than infects even such purportedly lighthearted moments as "Feel Good Inc." It’s a sense of menace that’s reminiscent of prime Happy Mondays, so it shouldn’t be a surprise that one of the...

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