Hip-hop goofballs concoct seriously skewed R&B Remember De La Soul’s 3 Feet High and Rising and wacky skit host Don Newkirk? Nearly 20 years later, he reunites with De La mentor Prince Paul and P-Funk keyboard legend Bernie Worrell for a predictably eccentric, semi-concept album. The trio craft creeping, sinuously elastic grooves that are like dense, avant-garde variations on an ’80s slow jam. Nona Hendryx (“Crack Addicts in Love”), George Clinton (“Baby Elephants N Thangs”), and David Byrne (“How Does the Brain Wave?”) introduce their own bizarre perspectives, adding to the inscrutable freakathon. MOSI REEVES
Psych-rockers stop pissing on themselves and rock out Retro lovers should exercise caution when dancing with the past: True inspiration can turn into tired anachronism with one too many reverb-soaked guitar twangs. Self-described “flower punks” the Black Lips have so much fun time-traveling that they sometimes forget to inject enough present-day danger: Half these songs could’ve been lifted straight from ’60s novelty-garage comps, particularly “How Do You Tell a Child That Someone Has Died” and “Navajo,” which starts “I fell in love with a little Indian girl.” It’s gleefully cheeky, but a little safe—especially considering the band’s reputation for live insanity. JOSH MODELL
“TBTF,” with its Hallmark-blas-pheming refrain of “You’re too beautiful to fuck,” groans under a melody as uncomfortable as the sentiment. STACEY ANDERSON
Ghostly revivalism, mumbled something-or-other, etc. Taking a cue from the Violent Femmes’ hopped-up folk, this Seattle trio brings subtle twists to seemingly simple sounds. Singer Pete Quirk combines the vigor of Fleetwood Mac’s Lindsey Buckingham and the word-slurring flair of a young Michael Stipe, then adds his own neurotic charisma, making anxiety seem like a real swell time. If “Called” and “Dancing on Our Graves” try too hard to conjure the spooky vibe of ancient American roots music, the persistent acoustic guitars produce waves of modern static tension. JON YOUNG
The Fiery Furnaces have already made so many records—and packed each one so full of ideas—that you might worry they’d have nothing new left for Widow City, the Brooklyn-based group’s follow-up to last year’s Bitter Tea. But fear not: In “Automatic Husband,” one of 16 tracks here, singer Eleanor Friedberger makes her unexpected debut as a rapper—and she’s good! “The solar period, if you look, is like the bishop in the brook,” she announces over burbling bass and a swinging G-funk beat by drummer Bob D’Amico. As usual, it’s anyone’s guess what Friedberger’s on about. But her flow is so sexy and laid-back that it hardly matters.
Recorded with help from Tortoise’s John McEntire (who also worked on brother Matthew Friedberger’s 2006 solo set), Widow City is the band’s most raucously funky effort yet, full of twisty-turny jams with grooves lifted from Prince and guitar fuzz inspired by Led Zeppelin. “Ex-Guru” starts as live-band disco, then mushroom-clouds
Black Francis Bluefinger ITUNES MYSPACE
A resurgent icon rediscovers a handful of Pixie dust Returning to the Black Francis moniker he used when fronting the Pixies, Charles Thompson has fittingly made an album that sounds more like the Pixies than any of his previous solo efforts. The outer-space-fixated “Captain Pasty” opens behind a rumbling surf guitar, then plows forward at a breakneck pace. Thompson’s exuberantly unhinged yelps (“Threshold Apprehension”) and gloriously icky lyrics (“I got into your parts / And I made you squeal”) banish the tastefulness that’s too often infected Frank Black albums. It’s not quite the Pixies reunion album many have been waiting for, but it’s as close as we’ll get. DAVID PEISNER
Broken Social Scene Presents Kevin Drew Spirit If… ½ ITUNES MYSPACE
Toronto collective’s main man disappears down a side road Canada’s Broken Social Scene excel at drawing memorable hooks out of sprawling, eccentric arrangements. But when cofounder Kevin Drew sublets the name for this solo debut, he caves in to a self-indulgence the collective would never allow, even in its shaggiest moments. His Guided by Voices–style pop veers off into bloated, frustrating tangents of horns, fuzzboxed guitars, and indiscriminate metal clattering. Despite numerous cameos from his mates, including gal pal Feist, Drew still sounds orphaned and adrift;
Vic Chesnutt North Star Deserter AMAZON MYSPACE
A darkly comic troubadour who really knows from pain
When wheelchair-bound Vic Chesnutt spikes his soul-crush-ing songs with a wicked grin, he somehow gives discomfort a powerful allure. The bone-dry, bleakly hilarious “You Are Never Alone,” whose lyrics suggest relief can be found via abortion and prescription drugs, pushes black humor to the edge. And on his 11th album, this musician’s musician once again finds a coterie of like minds—Fugazi’s Guy Picciotto, members of Godspeed You! Black Emperor—to help turn chronic disquiet into disturbingly palpable dread-folk. JOSH MODELL
Matt plays all the instruments besides the drums, including an old-school keyboard called the Chamberlin, which gives the music an appealing retro-futuristic vibe.
Like every Furnaces disc since their 2003 debut, Gallowsbird’s Bark, Widow City goes on for a while— maybe too long. But it’s quite a trip. MIKAEL WOOD
FROM LEFT: AMY GIUNTA; DANIEL ARNOLD/COURTESY BIZ 3
References:
http://www.myspace.com/babyelephantmusic
http://www.myspace.com/theblacklips
http://www.myspace.com/officialblackfrancis
http://www.myspace.com/thecavesingers
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