Psychedelic Pill just might be Young's best since Rust Never Sleeps, though such superlatives are, of course, always debatable. What is not is the fact that it's his most '70s-sounding record since, well, the '70s! Caked in Crazy Horse squall and California harmonies, it's a passionate journey through Neil's nine lives; there's Canadian pride ("Born in Ontario"), the joys of hearing "Like a Rolling Stone" for the first time ("Twisted Road") and hippie rumination ("Walk Like a Giant"). Also, if you love when Neil goes long, Psychedelic Pill boasts four epics that break the eight-minute mark.
Produced by Rick Rubin, La Futura opens with the best tune ZZ has unleashed since the D.O.R. remix of "Give It Up." Balancing the blues' no-frills earthiness and pop's adherence to novelty at all costs, "I Gotsa Get Paid" is a filthy-groove reworking of the Houston rap classic "25 Lighters" (an ode to slinging crack, of all things). The album doesn't contain another cut that's nearly as radical, yet there are several more fun jams, including the slowed-down "Tush" riffer "Consumption," a song that could be about sex or booze or drugs, or even capitalism itself when you get right down to it.
Aborted recording sessions, cancelled concerts, throat surgery, the relentless Tyler-Perry feud -- it's amazing Aerosmith even wanted to make another album. Yet here they are, in 2012, with Music From Another Dimension! The record, though not as heavy, echoes 1997's Nine Lives in how it teeters between power-balladry ("Can't Stop Loving You," featuring Carrie Underwood) and classic rock 'n' roll ("Legendary Child"). There are also a lot of samples and sonic collage; the best are found on "Street Jesus," the kind of boogie-Beatles number the group has been cranking out since Rocks.
At this point in his career, there's no avoiding Bruce-isms. Even the most ardent fan can spot them a mile away: the anguished growl, the sing-along anthems, the American Dream poetics. Despite calling too much attention to itself at times, Wrecking Ball is a marvel in sonic ambition. Using folk revivalism for a canvas, Springsteen paints a soundscape rich in rock 'n' roll, gospel, hip-hop, even electronica. The segue between "Swallowed Up (In the Belly of the Whale)" and "American Land," wherein ambient atmospherics give way to rollicking Irish glam, is Springsteen at his most audacious.
At a time in America's history when atheists and Christians wage a culture war, leave it to Brian Wilson and The Beach Boys to call a truce with an album titled That's Why God Made the Radio. An ode to the spiritual joys of pop music, it's the group's most enjoyable since 1977's Love You. Then again, the competition (Summer In Paradise? M.I.U. Album?) isn't stiff. The best tunes, the title track and "Shelter" among them, feel like variations on The Raspberries' 1974 chestnut "Overnight Sensation (Hit Record)," itself an amalgam of the best moments of The Beach Boys' 1965 masterpiece Today!
The Rush of 2012 isn't as epic as the Rush that gave us 2112 and Moving Pictures, but that's a minor issue at most. Clockwork Angels is proof they've aged better than nearly every other band from the classic rock era still active. A concept album, it's rooted in alchemy and steampunk. In all honesty, though, these themes are difficult to follow and take a back seat to grooving on all the quality jams. The best is "Headlong Flight," a boogie rager with a killer middle section. Another keeper is "Carnies," a fiery rumination on transcendence and escape via Gypsy life... so very Rush, isn't it?
Macca is no stranger to pop standards. Back in The Beatles' rowdy Hamburg days, he found a way to squeeze "Till There Was You" into every set. But Kisses On The Bottom (which isn't nearly as saccharine as Ringo's Sentimental Journey) is his first album consciously dedicated to the canon. There's a twist, however. Rather than tackle covers exclusively, McCartney adds a few of his own compositions. These include "Only Our Hearts" and the melancholic "My Valentine." Both are kind of hokey, but would we expect anything less from the man who also gave us "Silly Love Songs"?
Outside of Heroes: Giants of Early Guitar Rock, Dion's past few albums, including the aptly titled Tank Full Of Blues, have been steeped in the American idiom. The singer's mid-'60s sides for Columbia represent some of the very best blues of that decade. But his relationship with the music has transformed with age. Where the Columbia material was brash and cocky, Tank Full of Blues is wise and knowing. The grooves don't explode; they smolder. Dion's voice no longer soars; it creeps along, close to the ground. But as "Two Train" proves, he can still pull a switchblade at any moment.
The irony underpinning the title track, a middle finger to the computer age, is how the tune sounds as if it was recorded in a digital studio, the kind that just about every major-label artist nowadays uses. But hey, Walsh has never let contradiction stand between him and a rock anthem for the common man; after all, an ordinary average guy he clearly is not. Further clouding his cognitive dissonance is the fact that Analog Man feels not like a throwback to the solid state '70s but to the new wave '80s. It exudes that crisp production that bands like ZZ Top and Loverboy used to sport.
With Robert Hunter providing lyrics (as he did for The Grateful Dead back in the day), a fantastic Mississippi John Hurt cover to open things up, and Little Feat's characteristically high-quality jammy blues rock, this 16th record marks the band's return to chicken-related album titles (Dixie Chicken, released in 1973, is considered one of their best). The playing is always impeccable, as is the recording, but it's the Dead-worthy bump of the title cut that folks who may have dismissed this modern configuration of Little Feat need to hear.
Bonnie Raitt's first new material since 2005, Slipstream is an eclectic collection of smooth blues, mature pop and confessional fare. In others words, it's another solid collection from the rock veteran. The two Dylan covers, "Million Miles" and "Standing in the Doorway," both from Time Out Of Mind, are deliciously moody, like flickering neon in a thunderstorm. The album hits a peak with a rendition of "You Can't Fail Me Now," written by friends and collaborators Joe Henry and Loudon Wainwright III. Raitt's voice and slide work are absolutely ageless, but of course, you already know that.
Joe Cocker is the kind of Woodstock-era artist ripe for a Starbucks-funded comeback album, something tasteful, organic and produced by T-Bone Burnett. Hard Knocks is the exact opposite. This is the kind of album the singer would've released back in the '80s. The music is sleek like a Ferrari zipping down a Miami highway. The horns on "Runaway Train" are pure "Sussudio" in their punchy efficiency, but the song goes a step further, boasting synthesizers that would sound right at home at Eurovision. Underneath all the gloss, however, Cocker's voice is still as gruff as it has ever been.
A master of the pleasant and charming three-star album, Starr drops yet another in Ringo 2012. This represents the legendary Fab's second stab at self-production. His skills have definitely evolved. Compared to 2010's Y Not, his first turn behind the board, everything here is significantly more detailed, crunchy and sparkling. Bouncy power pop numbers such as "Think It Over" and a reworking of "Rock Island Line" are filled with all manner of sonic treats. As usual, Starr has surrounded himself with a team of ace musicians and songwriters, including Van Dyke Parks, Joe Walsh and Dave Stewart.
Ever since 1985's Asylum, KISS' studio output has been spotty (at best). But give them credit: Monster is an awfully punchy album for a band that has been around since the Nixon administration. Not surprisingly, their vigor is in large part attributable to their newest member: guitarist and songwriter Tommy Thayer. Yes, it's sacrilege that he dons Ace's make-up, but dude can shred. Which he most certainly does on standouts "Back to the Stone Age," "The Devil is Me" and the Zep-fried "Wall of Sound." In other news: Paul Stanley's sexy talk is still cheesy. But hey, some things never change.
In terms of theme and sound, the nearly all-instrumental Shape Shifter is Carlos Santana's attempt to recapture some of the power of his early-1970s peak, back when the guitarist turned the hippie world upside down with his unique amalgam of acid rock, Latin funk and electric spirit jazz. Considering the Woodstock icon is now in his mid-60s, don't expect full-blown fire music here; "Soul Sacrifice" was a long time ago. That said, tunes such as "Dom" and the organ-heavy title track should please those longtime fans who never took to the Billboard-friendly pop of either Supernatural or Shaman.
Fagen's vision hasn't changed much since the Dan's initial hiatus back in '81. Longtime fans know what to expect with Sunken Condos: sleek art-pop with funky accents and light touches of jazz and R&B. This time around, however, the music feels more historical, as if Fagen consciously littered the album with little nods to his past. One of the tastiest is "The New Breed," a cheeky tale about an older man whose lady ditched him for a younger guy. The forward march of age again rears its head in "Miss Marlene," a silky, if odd yarn seemingly about bowling partners (lovers?) who fell out of touch.
A Different Kind of Truth isn't quite on par with classic Van Halen: Fair Warning, II, 1984, et al. But it's an excellent album nonetheless, even when the band is obviously tweaking previously established templates. "As Is" is more or less a cross between "Hot For Teacher" and "Ice Cream Man," but this doesn't diminish its hard-rocking potency. Eddie sounds ferocious on just about every track, but particularly "Honeybabysweetiedoll" and "The Trouble with Never," both of which are slyly eccentric takes on the kind of over-amped boogie Van Halen perfected as a bar band back in the mid-1970s.
Don't be fooled when Tempest bounces out of the gate with "Duquesne Whistle"; the heart and soul of Bob Dylan's 35th studio release is a bleak and beautiful meditation on the sinking of the Titanic. That title track waltzes along forever, showing off Dylan's enduring gift as a storyteller. Though many of the other tunes shrink beside this monstrous (and often gruesome) ballad, they aren't without their rootsy charms. The swinging grooves are provided by Dylan's longtime touring band, who endow tunes like "Long and Wasted Years" and "Early Roman Kings" with a ramshackle appeal.
A companion to the concert DVD of the same name, CSN 2012 finds these three hippie icons tackling all the classics that made them the shaggy princes of Woodstock. As is to be expected, time's unforgiving march forward makes itself heard; on "Helplessly Hoping" and "Déjà Vu," Stills and Nash's voices no longer soar as effortlessly as they once did. In contrast, the trio's jamming skills still pack punch. The aforementioned "Déjà Vu," as well as "Wooden Ships," breaks the 10-minute barrier, and both stay interesting in large part to Stills' guitar work, which sounds inspired and free-flowing.
Though 2006's The Drift was equally dark and difficult, Bish Bosch (b*tch + Hieronymous Bosch?) finds Walker placing his dystopian opera in more of an art-rock context, something he hasn't attempted since the landmark Nite Flights. His modernist tendencies (the interaction of voice with atmosphere and texture) remain paramount. But on several pieces -- including "See You Don't Bump His Head," "Epizootics!" and "Tar" -- drums and guitar play vital roles in their powerful rhythmic components. Had The Birthday Party been raised as conservatory brats, maybe they would have made music like this.
It's tempting to say Locked Down is the Doctor's long-overdue return to the psychedelic voodoo meditations of Gris-Gris and Babylon. After all, this Dan Auerbach-produced effort is awfully trippy in places. Yet the music is decidedly modern in its hyper-awareness of pop-music history, from vintage New Orleans R&B to the fuzz of modern garage rock. The sublime "Ice Age" bubbles like the vintage stuff, yet there's a subtle hip-hop strut lurking in its groove. This idea is even more successful on the funky "Eleggua" (dig that Creole jive). Though Dr. John is now 71, his voice still sounds great.
Hard to believe this is just the second solo album of Jeff Lynne's long career. A covers collection that spotlights songs he heard on long-wave radio back as a child and young man, it recalls Todd Rundgren's Faithful in its desire to recreate the magic and charm of the original recordings. The grab bag of film score music, pop classical and rock 'n' roll also serves as a kind of view into the influences that surely shaped the evolution of Lynne's group Electric Light Orchestra. The real gem of the bunch is the dreamy "She," originally a hit for French-Armenian crooner Charles Aznavour in 1974.
Heart mean business right out of the gate. The title track is a grimy nugget, equal parts Houses of the Holy and Who's Next (dig that percolating keyboard lurking in the mix). While Ann Wilson snarls "I'm just a fanatic," all manner of odd sound effects surface, then crumble violently. The majority of the album's lyrics are autobiographical, but as with Heart's best stuff, it's easy to get lost in the onslaught of hooks, riffs and laser-like harmonies. Some of the best are to be found on "Million Miles," a propulsive folk-rocker unpinned by strings and what sounds like John Martyn's Echoplex.
So much has been made of Cohen's poetics, philosophical insights and charismatic genius that what's often overlooked is his instrument. When staring down age's barrel, a great crooner makes the physical frailties creeping into his vocal cords work for him, and Cohen does this well on Old Ideas. Listen to him on "Amen," and the way he grinds each word into dust, then gently blows that dust into the air. On the relaxed country-blues number "Banjo," Cohen flirts with his mortality; as he does, he turns every phrase ("It's coming for me, darling/ No matter where I go") into slowly bubbling lava.
If you're a fan of nonsensical Neil, as in the one who dabbles in disco or uptown blues for no discernible reason other than enigmatic perversity, then Americana is for you. It's a tribute to folk standards and pop classics, yet Crazy Horse's approach can only be described as sonic buggery: bummer feedback, plodding grooves, zombie chants. It's all rather morose, especially "Clementine," on which Young reverts to the blue lyrics about kissing her "little sister." Neil and the Horse close with none other than "God Save The Queen," which is neither a folk standard nor a pop classic. So weird.
