The return of producer Steve Lillywhite obviously means his creative differences with Dave Matthews have been put to rest. This is a good thing: Away from the World exudes textures, colors, warmth and space unique to their working relationship. There's plenty of hushed acoustica ("Sweet," "Belly Full," "Snow Outside"). But the more compelling tunes are those with complex arrangements full of shifting time changes and layered horns. These include the chops-heavy "Belly Belly Nice" and the sprawling "Drunken Soldier," which surely explodes in a million different directions in the live setting.
Though Guy Sigsworth is back in the producer's chair (with an assist from Joe Chiccarelli), Havoc and Bright Lights feels far less steeped in turmoil than he and Morissette's last effort together, 2008's Flavors of Entanglement (a break-up album of sorts for the singer). In fact, there's very little havoc to be found on the lead single "Guardian" or "'Til You" or "Empathy" or just about any other tune. The lone exceptions are "Celebrity," an electro-pop meditation on fame and the Babylonian evils that accompany it, and "Numb," a hard rocker that sounds like Sarah Brightman gone grunge-pop.
The boogie lumberjacks' seventh album in 20 years has quite the booming bottom: It's clear the rhythm section's been studying AC/DC records and early Rick Rubin productions long before they close with a stiff-rapped, Anthrax-spoofy take on Run-D.M.C.'s "It's Tricky." They ham up Dr. Hook's still-hilarious "Cover of The Rolling Stone," too, adding an obligatory chainsaw solo. But up top, Jesse James Dupree's lecherous jibber-jabber mostly stays garbled -- give or take "Golden Spookytooth," which swipes so much from Aerosmith's "Lord of the Thighs" that Steve Tyler deserves a co-writing credit.
Young Guns' sophomore effort Bones is a savvy distillation of every major modern-rock act of the past decade, from Radiohead and The Strokes to Queens Of The Stone Age and At The Drive-In. Moreover, just about every tune here is an anthem (sweeping choruses, impassioned vocals, bombastic arrangements) performed as if the end of civilization is only 48 hours away. This sense of desperation is a bit much to take after a handful of songs, yet there's no denying the pop skills these London lads display on "Dearly Departed," "I Was Born, I Have Lived, I Will Surely Die" and "Towers (On My Way)."
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.
Released to raise funds for L.A.'s Silverlake Conservatory of Music, Helen Burns is a departure from Flea's work with the Chilis. The six-track EP was recorded at his home in 2007 and features a short list of collaborators, among them drummer Chad Smith and punk queen Patti Smith. Sonically, Flea spins a collection of electro-acoustic soundscapes, each one an engaging and quirky weave of jazz-fusion, modern rock and electronic music. A good deal of this stuff feels inspired by Stevie Wonder's Journey Through "The Secret Life of Plants", the trippy soundtrack record from the late '70s.
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?
Heads up, all you fans of Father John Misty, Dawes and The Felice Brothers: The Sheepdogs is a classic-rock orgy produced by none other than Black Key Patrick Carney. What distinguishes these Canadian longhairs is their pop streak. While they're fully capable of channeling Crazy Horse and Stephen Stills, they sure do love their Gary Glitter stomp ("Feeling Good"), smooth yacht rock ("Alright OK") and roller-rink funk ("How Late, How Long"). On most of the tunes, singer (and guitarist) Ewan Currie is a dead ringer for Allman legend Dickey Betts. That's really cool, too.
Justin Hawkins' voice can't reach the stratospheric highs heard on Permission to Land and One Way Ticket to Hell... and Back; nevertheless, he's still an audacious howler with a penchant for lyrical absurdity. In terms of sonic attack, the band continues to roll Queen into Thin Lizzy into Mott The Hoople. However, they've definitely eased up on the frilly decadence. This means the tunes don't rope you in quite as effortlessly as they once did. Still, there are plenty of hooks to be enjoyed. As a matter of fact, the Jellyfish-tackles-Tusk chug-a-lug of "Keep Me Hangin' On" is packed full of them.
North is the sound of a '90s rock band attempting to come to terms with 21st-century pop but ultimately realizing they're too stubborn to change. This creates a somewhat schizoid listening experience, in all honesty. One minute, the group is getting all Maroon 5-funky, imploring folks to "leave your heart out on the dancefloor" ("Put Your Hands Up"). The next, they're busting introspective coffeehouse folk as if Y2K is still up around the bend ("I Will"). Longtime fans will surely prefer the latter, but the pop shenanigans are more fun and alive sounding. Might as well party, right?
A companion piece to The Blackbird Diaries, released the previous year, The Ringmaster General is another solid set of soul-infused dad rock and Americana recorded at John and Martina McBride's Blackbird Studios in Nashville. This time around, though, Stewart's music has significantly more bite ("Girl in a Catsuit"), more fun ("I Got Love") and more boogie ("Story of Success"). Funny thing: Stewart's brand of rootsy pop-n-roll sounds awfully like John Mellencamp circa 1985's Scarecrow. Then again, that can be said of most everything that has emerged from Music City U.S.A. in the 21st century.
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.
Recorded at the same time as the band's first album, The Magic Door bears a similar warmth in its production, with Adam MacDougall's keyboard playing once again lending Robinson and co. legitimacy sound-wise. The main difference between the two albums is a stronger soul feel this time around, coupled with tripped-out jamming, which makes for a super laid-back vibe, even when the tempo is fast. "Little Lizzie Mae" proves Robinson can still write choruses you would swear had been written in the '70s.
The Heavy emerged from the hipster-blues thing first established by The Jon Spencer Blues Explosion and The Black Keys. But since the act hail from England, they're far more comfortable with mixing indie's need for authenticity and pop's embrace of a good hook at any cost. In this respect, The Glorious Dead walks the same walk as its predecessors. It contains fuzzy stomp ("Same Ol'"), hip-gyrating boogie ("What Makes a Good Man?"), garage punk ("Just My Luck") and symphonic soul nostalgia a la Paul Weller ("Curse Me Good"). The Heavy enjoy covering a lot of ground.
These hard-touring alt-folk sensations are in fine, appropriately workmanlike form on The Carpenter, mixing sweet sensitive-bro balladry with just the hint of a hard-rock snarl (see "Paul Newman vs. the Demons," in which the victor is left ambiguous). There's a totally ripping banjo solo on "Live and Die," lovely horns on "Down with the Shine" and some splendid string-section action on the aching, expertly harmonized closer, "Life." But at a brisk 1:37, the sweetly rollicking "Geraldine" almost walks away with this thing. Bet it kills live.
