Dizzee Rascal Showtime (XL)
Twenty-year-old East London rap phenom Dizzee Rascal spun heads last year with his debut, Boy in Da Corner, which introduced his vicious PlayStation beats and mechanical-cockroach rhyme flow to the U.S. Showtime finds Rascal molting off some of his debut's hard shell with cleaner sounds and clearer verses. These are Rascal's most accessible beats to date: The pulsing dance-floor thrust of "Stand Up Tall" resurrects the Eighties techno-sex of Thomas Dolby, and "Girls" is tweaked with vintage video-game blasts. Rascal's glottal Brit spit is a jittery percussive instrument: He can out-tongue-twist Twista and still make you feel his teeth clench on the indignant "Respect Me." When he does suddenly drop a rhyme in standard hip-hop meter, it's a shock to think how many careers have been built on such earthbound simplicity. (LAURA SINAGRA)
Papa Roach Getting Away With Murder (Geffen)
With every passing day, rap metal is seeming more and more like a bad high school joke. But Papa Roach have hung in there by turning out catchy hard rock that's as muscular as vintage Motorhead. Getting Away With Murder, the band's fourth album (and first completely rhyme-free disc), doesn't have the Ginsu-sharp impact of 2002's Lovehatetragedy, but almost every song features a skull-rattling groove and one or two darkly melodic hooks. On the title track, Jacoby Shaddix drops a singsong chorus over a chugging electro-riff that's more Ministry than Iron Maiden; "Be Free" begins with an I-got-wasted narrative that might have come from the Offspring if it weren't for the pile-driving dose of AA-meeting-worthy self-loathing. That's the way it is with Papa Roach: You accept Shaddix's functional dysfunction because the songs rock so smartly. (CHRISTIAN HOARD)
The Prodigy Always Outnumbered Never Outgunned (Maverick/XL)
Seven years ago, electronic music was being groomed for America's pop charts, and the Prodigy were to lead the way, armed with cartoony anthems, a snarling, interestingly coifed frontman, Keith Flint, and a kinetic stage show. It worked, too: The Fat of the Land, their third album, debuted at Number One on Billboard's album chart in July 1997. Electronica never staged a full takeover, but the Prodigy's heavy guitars and mammoth beats won a decisive battle. Which is why their long-delayed fourth album is so well titled: Always Outnumbered Never Outgunned is the album equivalent of a Civil War re-enactment. All the basic ingredients from Fat -- producer-mastermind Liam Howlett's trunk-slamming beats, depth-charge bass, Eighties-rap references ("Girls" leans on a Funky 4 + 1 quote) and wobbling synths -- are here, essentially untouched. Kool Keith returns for a guest spot, and as with Fat's cover of L7's "Fuel My Fire," Howlett again tips his hat to a garage-fuzz howler: "Phoenix" is essentially a cut-up of Shocking Blue's "Love Buzz." And "Spitfire," one of two songs featuring vocals from Juliette Lewis, baldly rips off their 1996 hit "Firestarter." The problem is that with the occasional exception -- such as "Memphis Bells," which sounds like a crunked-up slot machine -- Outnumbered plods along with little purpose beyond proving that Howlett can still wage sonic warfare. Doing something interesting with those weapons is something else altogether -- and it's not like Howlett didn't have seven years to try. (MICHAELANGELO MATOS)
The Ex Turn (Touch and Go)
"We need poets, we need painters/Filmers and writers, dancers, musicians, actors and sculptors, bakers, electricians, thinkers and doctors. . . ." So goes the roll call in "Listen to the Painters," the explosive recruiting pitch for a new people's army that opens this two-disc blast of revolution rock. One thing missing from the list: We need the Ex. Now in its twenty-fifth year, the independent Dutch band -- a dream collision of Crass, Sonic Youth and Faust -- has boldly expanded punk's language of resistance, bringing free jazz and the poetic tension of African rhythm into its combat-guitar theater. "Getatchew" is a fierce salute to Ethiopian saxophonist Getatchew Mekurya. "Theme From Konono" is a killer jam for four minutes, like the Fall in dub, until singer G.W. Sok calls us back to business with "The Old World, the new world, the Third World agree/For assholes unlimited, it's time to retreat." (DAVID FRICKE)
Matthew Sweet Living Things (Superdeformed/RCAM)
A Nebraskan by birth and a Californian by choice, Matthew Sweet knows that one of the best ways to create a slice of SoCal pop with a hefty ironic twist is to let eclectic composer/musician and Brian Wilson collaborator, Van Dyke Parks play all over your record. Parks' capricious keyboard playing creates complex arrangements that build upon the simple song structure of early hits like "Girlfriend" and "Sick of Myself." Sweet has forged cynical lyrics into bright melodies before, but on songs like "Push the Feelings Down," his voice soars higher as his themes grow darker ("Fuck the world around/Don't let it confuse you/You're not heaven bound/So God cannot abuse you"). The paradox works with the rest of the band too, as they thunder a little too loudly through softer ballads, such as "You're Not Sorry." But their din is inspired on songs like "Dandelion" -- Tony Marsico's menacing double bass roars beneath chirping birds, Sweet's wildly singing theremin and Parks' purposeful errant piano, end in arpeggios that sound like entry to a dream sequence as they lead into the next song. (MEREDITH OCHS)
Sally Timms In the World of Him (Touch and Go)
Chicago chanteuse Sally Timms, known for her alt-country stylings with the Mekons and on solo records like Cowboy Sally's Twilight Laments for Lost Buckaroos, sounds more like Laurie Anderson this time around than Loretta Lynn. Indeed, In the World of Him finds the British-born Timms and friends embellishing these fable-like songs, nearly all written by men and sung from their perspective, not with steel guitar but with moog and sampler, though elements of folk still abound. These explorations of the male psyche are empathetic not accusatory, and like a lot of Timms' work, straddle the line between absurd and harrowing, particularly the songs of war. "Corporate Chalkie" is like a nonsensical limerick, while "139 Hermansler Gurtel" is delicious camp in the vein of Momus. In "Little Tommy Tucker," Timms mourns "those hands you'll never know," her rich voice peaked and fragile, beautiful but cautionary. It's the perfect closer to this album that explores not only the world of males, but the world at large. (MARGARET WAPPLER)
Citizen Cope The Clarence Greenwood Recordings (RCA)
Although singer-songwriter Citizen Cope (nee Clarence Greenwood) has a monotone vocal style that recalls melancholy soul man Bill Withers fused with slack rapper Beck, he draws the listener in closer with his sophomore disc's downtrodden tales and hybrid hip-hop, folk and soul sound. On "Fame," which creeps along with haunting organ and piano chords, he bemoans the disintegration of the American Dream. And the anthemic lead single, "Bullet and a Target," sprinkled with hand clapping and acoustic guitar, addresses -- amongst other rock-and-a-hard place topics -- the consequences of jingoism. Impressively, the former DJ for the alt-rap band Basehead recruited fellow Washingtonian and kindred spirit Meshell Ndegeocello to sing background and play bass on the tortured love song, "Sideways," and Carlos Santana, who's fiery guitar solo blesses "Son's Gonna Rise." With The Clarence Greenwood Recordings, Citizen Cope emerges as a modern day bluesman who paints a plaintive portrait of the human condition. (TRACY E. HOPKINS)
The Faint Wet From Birth (Saddle Creek)
Fusing cotton-swabbed electro synths with themes of the occult, sex and politics, Omaha's the Faint seem determined to get their fourth album noticed. The band's previous effort, 2001's Danse Macabre, cruised ahead of the post-millennium curve with a rockier version of the dark, Eighties-flavored synth pop that's all the rage today, and Wet From Birth continues down the same path. Opener "Desperate Guys," (written for frontman Todd Baechle's girlfriend Orinda Fink of Azure Ray), and "Paranoiattack" pulse on the Faint's trademark fuzzed-up dance charge. Later, on "Drop Kick the Punks," the band does manage to venture out of the electro-rock template and ends up sounding like a cross between the Sex Pistols and Queens of the Stone Age. But finally, the Faint's sound is right on time. (JOLIE LASH)
Tegan and Sara So Jealous (Vapor/Sanctuary)
Canadian twin sisters Tegan and Sara Quin were barely out of high school when Neil Young and Ryan Adams began singing their praises. Young, gay and wielding acoustic guitars, a Lilith Fair tour and an Ani DiFranco-esque debut album (This Business of Art) could've sealed a semi-obscure indie-folk future for the duo. But the siblings' collective musical heart yearns for Eighties pop, and on their third release they set their confessional lyrics to buoyant punk-pop melodies and flood their mostly three-minute-and-under tunes with synth-y keyboards (provided by ex-Weezer/Rentals member Matt Sharp) and an occasional rhythm lifted from the Cars. The twins' vocals are more girlish than angsty, which makes lines like "I wouldn't like me if I met me" ("You Wouldn't Like Me") all the more charming. Co-produced by like-minded Canucks John Collins (New Pornographers) and David Carswell (Smugglers), who also worked on their second release, So Jealous reveals flashes of brilliance and hints at what is bound to be a long, fertile career ahead, especially in the build-up of the cleverly arranged "Where Does the Good Go," and the completely addictive "Speak Slow," which sounds like Sleater-Kinney on a sugar-candy-and-Toni-Basil bender. (MEREDITH OCHS)
Bill Janovitz and Crown Victoria Fireworks on TV! (Q Division)
After bouncing between the laidback and fiery personalities of his solo and Buffalo Tom releases, singer-songwriter Bill Janovitz has found something of a happy medium. Evidence of the point can be found throughout the fifteen songs from Janovitz's latest release, Fireworks on TV!, especially in the tune "Mary Kay." The song builds from an evocative opener to a rev-'em-up, chock full of harmonies chorus -- courtesy of Crown Victoria, his touring band of Phil Aiken (piano, organ), Tom Polce (drums) and Josh Lattanzi (bass) -- that's just as hooky as anything he's ever written. What's kept Janovitz on so many radar screens since Buffalo Tom's 1989 debut is the ease in which he taps into universal emotions without leaning on cliche. Fireworks furthers this reputation with a sound that's reminiscent of Grant Lee Buffalo, Old 97's and the dozens of bands that were born in Boston's legendary Fort Apache Studios. (DAVID JOHN FARINELLA)
Peter Case Who's Gonna Go Your Crooked Mile? Selected Tracks 1994-2004 (Vanguard)
In-between Peter Case albums, it's easy to forget just how good he is as a writer, arranger, player and singer. It's also easy to forget that he's got a somewhat schizophrenic musical persona; on this sixteen-song retrospective, he migrates widely from the post-Plimsouls pop-punk of "Wake Up Call" to the stripped-down, strummin', howlin' and harp-blowin' folk of "Crooked Mile." This disc might have been better off with more of the former and less of the latter, or maybe just less . . . it does carry on a bit. Still, there's plenty to love, including the fiddle-filled country of "Coulda Shoulda Woulda"; the sad, sweet "Blue Distance"; and the sinister "Something's Coming" -- a career high (his two new offerings, "Wake Up" and "My Generation's Golden Handcuff Blues," share a similar edge). But "Two Heroes" has too many words crammed into its tale of circumstantial justice; Case should leave the narratives to Springsteen and stick to his own path -- crooked or not. (LYNNE MARGOLIS)
Augie March Strange Bird (SpinArt)
Startling in its goodness, Strange Bird, the rich, inventive U.S. debut from Australia's Augie March, goes where few bands dare to tread. While the fragile melodies of Glen Richards effortlessly color the outfit's adventurous, sonic canvas, calling Augie March's approach art rock wouldn't be right. After all, you wouldn't mar XTC's Skylarking or the Flaming Lips' The Soft Bulletin with such a tag. But Strange Bird is that brilliant and that adventurous. In fact, only mentioning the warped pop of "Addle Brains," the frantic, intoxicating roll of "This Train Will Be Taking No Passengers" or the nicotine-stained jazz of "The Keepa" feels superficial. To hear about the delicate lure of "The Night Is a Blackbird" without hearing how poetry aficionado Richards puts his own literary stamp on the song is unjust. Perhaps the seven minutes of savagery known as "Brundisium" only exists to put AM's depth on display, but the evocative, brass-tinged "Little Wonder" is sweet redemption and a perfect excuse to call Strange Bird a landmark album. (JOHN D. LUERSSEN)
John Frusciante DC EP (Record Collection)
The third release in a projected six-album outburst for 2004 from Red Hot Chili Pepper John Frusciante is actually a four-song EP, produced in two days by Ian Mackaye (Minor Threat, Fugazi) at Inner Ear studios in Washington, D.C. It serves as a brief look into Frusciante's contemplative side. Whereas his officially released solo work features a wide palette of sonic colors, here, much like the acoustic demos available at his Web site (johnfrusciante.com), Frusciante plays it relatively straight (with drums and electricity), putting the songs centerstage. "Goals" is earnest singer-songwriterdom, offering "there's nothing I'm really supposed to do" over a plaintively strummed guitar that switches to color for its final thirty seconds. "A Corner" builds into a hummable, cathartic 'na-na-na-na-na' chorus. But it's Frusciante's overwhelming melodicism that powers these songs. With this natural gift, he may never stop this 'album of the month' club. (ROB O'CONNOR)
Silkworm It'll Be Cool (Touch and Go)
It's odd to think that Silkworm ever had a fourth member. Many thought the band was finished after the departure of singer/guitarist Joel Phelps in the mid-Nineties, but the remaining trio of Andy Cohen, Tim Midgett and Michael Dahlquist has consistently proven categorically better than the quartet. On this one, they outdo themselves. Matt Kadane (Bedhead, the New Year) settles in on the keys and Steve Albini twiddles the knobs as usual, but there is something new at work in Silkworm's continuing perfection of their sludgy approach to pop. Ever-present are Dahlquist's thunderous beats, Midgett's hollow, scraping basslines and Cohen's squealing solos, but It'll Be Cool, as the title indicates, is more upbeat, up-tempo and inspired than previous releases with more piano and even an electrified mandolin filling out the sound. The whispering "Xian Undertaker" is one of the most effective of their understated anthems since 1994's "Raised by Tigers," and further affirms that they're better off as the few rather than the many. (LANCE SCOTT WALKER)
The Waxwings Let's Make Our Descent (Rainbow Quartz)
Detroit's Waxwings live and breathe classic rock's roots. That's undeniable upon first, second and tenth spins of their third album, Let's Make Our Descent. Chunky Stones-ish riffs flow throughout, and there are moments that recall bands from the Kinks to Buffalo Springfield. In this immersion into the retro, however, the Waxwings come off more on the side of originality than rip-off. The album opens with a straightforward riff rocker with Eighties melodic sensibility, an appropriate breed to introduce the band's sound. Two of the album's strongest tracks, "All the Fuss" and "Answer to Me," highlight Dean Fertita and Dominic Romano's perfectly meshed vocal dynamic amidst squirming guitar parts. The dreamy acoustic charm in "Of Late" provides a well-sequenced, lightly psychedelic break from the meatiness of previous tunes. Ultimately, the Waxwings capture an intensity and uniformity on record that likely makes them force to be reckoned with live, a fitting next step for any allured listener. (DOUGLAS WATERMAN)