Similar to "Francine" from Rio Grande Mud, the guitars in opener "It's Only Love" point to the fact that Billy Gibbons is about the only dude ever that figured out the mystery of Keith Richards' secret guitar-tuning and knack for riffs that shuffle, swing and rock at once. "Arrested for Driving While Blind" and "El Diablo" are all Gibbons, Dusty Hill and Frank Beard, though; that means they boogie at half-speed and are as taut as they are loose. The whole album is draped in this muffled, almost narcotic tone. Maybe not the world-buster that Tres Amigos was, but still great.
On United We Stand, singer and songwriter Shawn Smith keeps on doing his low-key thing: a moody-dude blend of classic-rock forms slathered in an array of modern varnishes. Though the veteran Seattle artist has never achieved fame equal to that of his bandmate Stone Gossard, his sound is quite elemental in the way it reflects the influence '70s-era funk and soul exerted on grunge's earliest progenitors (see Mother Love Bone). Brad like to jam at times, but they're best as balladeers. "Make the Pain Go Away" and "Needle and Thread" are fine examples of Smith's introspective vocal style.
Like most Train albums, California 37 is an encyclopedia of references to the greater Bay Area: the fog, the bridges, the wineries, the spiritual renewal (if one can afford it). After Save Me, San Francisco put the band back on top, Pat Monahan's wordplay is faster and more flamboyant than ever, particularly on "This'll Be My Year," a Billy Joel-inspired run down of civilization's ups and downs since the '80s. The music is equally flashy; inspired by the party-hard nature of Latin dance-pop, "Drive By" wouldn't sound out of place in your favorite taquerÃa.
On his solo debut, Jack White essentially tosses his entire catalog into a blender -- from his famous bands' output to his production work -- and spins it into gold. The retrophile throws solid punches at everything modern (even the women: "She don't care about the bruises that she's leaving on me/ 'Cause she's got freedom in the 21st century"), reveling in classic sounds from Zeppelin rock to country to blues to soul. He bangs on the electric piano as fervently as he strikes his axe, and he ain't one bit happy about love, even when ex-wife Karen Elson joins in on the bruised-and-battered fun.
Could there be anything more Mrazian than an album all about love? Well, not really. But while he returns to a familiar topic, never straying lyrically far from the beach-wedding (with a bit of bite) fodder he's built his name on, he strikes out in some refreshing musical directions: organ-bedecked blue-eyed funk, a bit of country and, most of all, strings-laden, '70s singer-songwriter rock that lands him somewhere between James Taylor, the Eagles and Barry Manilow. It suits him, especially the country: "I Won't Give Up" might be his best track ever. "5/6" is definitely his most adventurous.
Though it can be argued Janis never released a classic album, Pearl comes close. Gone are both Big Brother's psychedelia and the sonic excess of Kozmic Blues; in their place is an earthy blend of boogie, hard rock and R&B. It's obvious this is the most comfortable the singer ever felt in the studio. That said, her ragged voice was clearly buckling under the myriad stresses that come with intense liquor/drug use. The peak, of course, is her uncharacteristically subtle "Me and Bobby McGee." This Sessions version contains outtakes and demos revealing Joplin's freewheeling approach to recording.
Former Court & Spark singer M.C. Taylor might've relocated to North Carolina, but his Hiss Golden Messenger project has long betrayed his Southern California roots. On Poor Moon the singer-songwriter nails the warm, patient ripple of vintage country-rock and denim hippie-folk. Though Taylor's artistic temperament is more romantic than restless (i.e. more J.D. Souther than Gene Clark), there's no denying his knack for craft and sonic detail. Plus, his cast of backing musicians is impressive, including as it does Southern boogie pianist Hans Chew and Black Twig Pickers' Nathan Bowles on banjo.
The music of Spiritualized often flirts with the edge -- the consequences of living on it and the results of falling over it. 2008's Songs in A&E saw an ailing Jason Pierce contemplating that plunge, but on this follow-up, he sounds rejuvenated, even grateful at times -- see rockers "I Am What I Am" and "Hey Jane," in which he sings the album's title with genuine satisfaction. He's still chronically obsessed with the end, though, and that means the music remains mostly bold, intense and unabashedly grand: Even the instruments themselves sound terrified, as if they know their cacophonous fate.
London's noodle-metal nerds get a new singer on their fifth album, but their modus operandi remains: theoretically fantastical, interminably double-kick-drummed song approximations as vehicles to carry gratuitous video-game-joysticked guitar wank. "Wings of Liberty" advances from Queen balladry toward Maiden declamation; "Last Man Stands" is apocalypse-predicting '80s-style Euro-schmaltz. And when the bombast turns Celtic-jiggy in parts of "Cry Thunder" and goes on Viking attack in "Die by the Sword" -- which may have some "Puff the Magic Dragon" in the middle -- rhythm and tune pick up a bit.
To commemorate the 100th birthday of American folk icon and glorious rabble rouser Woody Guthrie, Billy Bragg and his mates in Wilco bundled together the three volumes of their long-running Mermaid Avenue project. Beginning in the mid-1990s, the artists set about putting together a clutch of unfinished songs Guthrie's daughter Nora had given them. If you're a follower of either Bragg or Wilco, then the chances are good you already own a good chunk of this music. Still, there are some wonderful tunes here. Hopefully they'll help expose future Americans to one of the country's great poet-rebels.
James Jackson Toth (aka Wooden Wand) has long been adamant that he's a songwriter first and singer second. That may have been true on older albums, but not Briarwood. The record is so fully realized that it's impossible to separate words from voice from music. All three melt into a rumbling goo of rock, country, blues, soul and gospel. This is thick and weary folk music for Middle America. No growth, just day-to-day maintenance: rust, wood paneling and gray skies. The Wand is still a young dude with more music inside him, but don't be surprised if Briarwood goes down as a career highlight.
Compared to the minimalist All Days Are Night, Rufus's seventh album is a circus. But relative to his flamboyant oeuvre, Out of the Game is thoughtful and restrained. It's Rufus "doing" adulthood, with heartbreaking earnestness and arch theatricality. Rufus and producer Mark Ronson put life and pop on stage and examine them from all angles, with blissful, complicated odes to family life, bits of doo-wop (the epic "Rashida"), '70s gold cut with show-tune panache, and diverse guests like the Dap-Kings and Nels Cline. The melodies (particularly the impressionist "Montauk") will haunt your brain.
Wherein America's Jazzy Sweetheart unloads a vicious, delicious breakup album full of breathily tart lines ("You don't have to tell the truth/ 'Cause if you do I'll tell it too") and hilariously explicit song titles ("She's 22"). We're a long way from Come Away With Me here -- buffed to an arty, sweetly discomfiting shine by producer/cowriter Danger Mouse, Little Broken Hearts bears both the elegant easy-listening beauty of Jones' earlier stuff and the sublime, guitar-driven acidity of St. Vincent or Sparklehorse. This is a bit of a shock, and a tremendous delight; get a load of "Miriam."
Hanging at the Kokua Festival in Hawaii must be totally awesome: tropical cocktails, compostable utensils, flowery halter tops and, of course, Mr. Jack Johnson. A collection of recordings captured between 2004 and '10, this release contains a who's who of top shelf artists, including Dave Matthews, Willie Nelson, Eddie Vedder, Jackson Browne and Ben Harper. Though the music ranges from pop reggae to country-folk, all of it is breezy, mellow and acoustic in a distinctively Hawaiian manner. Plus, it serves a good cause: The festival helps raise money for the venerable Kokua Hawaii Foundation.
