Vampire Weekend: Modern Vampires of the City (XL)

Think maybe this is overworked? Think maybe the hosannas are reflexive, generalized? I did, and then I didn't. So now think Paul Simon instead if you insist, admittedly a great album. But Sgt. Pepper is a truer precedent, to wit: if you're smart you say where's the rebop, only if you're smarter you quickly figure out that maybe sustaining groove and unfailing exuberance don't matter as much as you believed. Each verse/chorus/bridge/​intro melody, each lyric straight or knotty, each sound effect playful or perverse (or both)‑-each is pleasurable in itself and aptly situated in the sturdy songs and tracks, so that the whole signifies without a hint of concept. And crucially, the boy-to-man themes you'd figure come with several twists I've noticed so far and more no doubt to come. One is simply a right-on credo: "Age is an honor‑-it's still not the truth." Another is how much time Ezra Koenig spends wrestling a Jahweh-like hard case. The Big Guy comes out on the short end of a fight song called "Unbelievers," and a DJ "spinning `Israelites' into `Nineteenth Nervous Breakdown'" gives Him a nasty turn. But Koenig claims no permanent victory. Too smart. Too much a man, too. A PLUS

 

Deerhunter: Monomania (4AD)

Consider me converted, at least until Bradford Cox lurches off in yet another direction. Here he opts for the kind of lo-fi garage scuzz that's always said to come bearing melodic emoluments and seldom does except in its punker forms‑-and now this progger one. Well into its 12 songs in 43 minutes, the tunes maintain as reliably as classic Ramones, one after another after another. Not that they're nearly as neat‑-there's distortion everywhere, vocalsguitarskeyboar​dsnotessounds. But for once the distortion just adds savor the way it's supposed to, as do the three trickier and less ingratiating ear-stickers that close. As for themes, whaddaya think? He's alienated, heartsick, confused. OK, fella. Just keep putting that time in at the garage. A

 

 

Jenny & Johnny: I'm Having Fun Now (Warner Bros. '10)

Just because she loves him for bringing out the folk-rock softie in her doesn't mean we have to ("Big Wave," "Just Like Zeus," "My Pet Snakes") ***

 

George Jones: Cold Hard Truth (Asylum '99)

Begins with two all-time keepers and a fine novelty, after which the songs need more than the scratch vocals he was stuck with after he ran into an abutment playing his stepdaughter the tape ("Choices," "Cold Hard Truth," "Sinners & Saints") ***

 

Lil Wayne: I Am Not a Human Being (Universal/Motown '10)

His throwaways beat their keepers, from solitary yet, but the true classics are all in the middle and the Young Money promos are filler ("I Am Not a Human Being" "Popular," "I'm Single") ***

 

The Go! Team: Rolling Blackouts (Memphis Industries '10)

Exceeding their emotional reach, musical grasp, and conceptual limitations whether softer or more elaborate ("Apollo Throwdown," "Bust Out Brigade") ***

 

Bassekou Kouyate & Ngoni Ba: I Speak Fula (Sub Pop '10)

At ease with himself and in synch with his people ("Jamana Be Diya," "Falani") **

 

They Might Be Giants: Join Us (Idlewild/Rounder '11)

Kiddie songs becoming a habit, clever fellows service the grownup market ("When Will You Die," "2082") **

 

The Old 97's: The Grand Theatre: Volume Two (New West '11)

If you'd been doing this since 1994, wouldn't you front-load volume one? ("No Simple Machine," "Visiting Hours") *

 

Liz Phair: Funstyle (Rocket Science Ventures '10)

Not a good sign when the skits stand out and your old demos are a welcome add-on ("Bang! Bang!" "White Babies") *

 

 

Kenya Special (Soundway)

There were hundreds of 45s released every month in the Nairobi of the late '70s and early '80s, many of which have disappeared, as happens when some artists can only bankroll their releases in batches of 50. But enough have survived to sustain a crate dig that aims for quality rather than rarity or oddity. The stylistic range of these 32 high-level selections is audible without a scorecard‑-playful savannah-pop harmonies, tight hotel bands with their dance numbers, many English lyrics, enough benga to scratch that itch, and numerous one-of-a-kinds. Don't expect much airy soukous a la Guitar Paradise of East Africa‑-that was more a Tanzanian thing. And for all the welcome variety and obscurity, the most exciting music is five minutes of a horn section anchored by the great Verckys‑-not funk by a long shot, but Brownian in its momentum. Also recommended is the scorecard, which runs 40 pages. A MINUS

Orchestra Super Mazembe: Mazembe @ 45RPM Vol. 1 (Sterns Africa)

Clearly a first-rank band, they were also clearly a band without a true star on vocals or guitar. Since beyond a single drummer their music was all vocals and guitars, this is a limitation. Nor does the songcraft help much. So this lovingly conceived, skillfully engineered reconstruction from the big-holed, two-sided originals provides nine slightly subclassic soukous tracks averaging eight-and-a-half minutes apiece‑-in the East African manner, of course, which is less coruscating than its Congolese counterparts. Samba Mapangala does take the lead once, and it's fine listening throughout. But it's definitely for adepts of the style. Mastermind Doug Paterson's thorough notes include summaries of Lingala lyrics that are more woman-friendly than Afropop so often is. B PLUS

 

 

The Uncluded: Hokey Fright (Rhymesayers)

In a year when someone named Binki Shapiro ain't Kimya Dawson, someone named Aesop Rock will wash Adam Green right out of your head. Protesting the decline of the laundromat and promoting the rise of organ donation, ecumenicizing "Superheroes" with "Fluffernutter/Shawa​rma/Reuben/Cuban" and eulogizing the friend of a friend who justified Dawson's fear of flying, it's the return of the deeply goofy male-female duet. The tunes are Dawson's because Ae-Rock doesn't do tunes, but his beats beef up those tunes just like his gruff, clotted flow beefs up her itty-bitty soprano. Most important, her poetic confessionals function as glosses on his rhymes, which are a touch more straightforward in any case. True, they bog down into his bigthink for a spell. But all is redeemed by a spirited finale designed to jar the downhearted from facing life, as they put it, tits up. A

 

Pistol Annies: Annie Up (RCA)

A lark evolves into a business proposition as an album of 10 inspired three-minute songs eventuates in an album of 12 expert three-and-a-half-min​ute songs. Because the three principals are still smart and spunky, some of these are superb: the family dysfunction playlet "Hush Hush," the objectification expose "Being Pretty Ain't Pretty," the 'til-death-do-us-par​t "I Hope You're the End of My Story." But because the three principals are Music City pros with a release schedule, some of them are merely expert, and two drag big time: the ensemble's five-minute "Blues You're a Buzz Kill," which is the latter solely, and Angeleena Presley's one-dimensional "Loved by a Workin' Man," which kisses up to the usual Nashville-male chauvinist cliches. A MINUS

 

 

 

Todd Snider: Happy New Year Vol. 1 (Aimless)

Updates of "Beer Run" and "Ballad of the Kingsmen," Jerry Jeff Walker cameo with patter, too many redundancies, and three or four definitive renditions ("Alright Guy [Hill Country Goodbye Story] Alright Guy," "Precious Little Miracles," "Can't Complain," "Too Soon to Tell") ***

 

Miles Davis Quintet: Live in Europe 1969: The Bootleg Series Vol. 2 (Columbia/Legacy)

There are probably 30-40 Miles albums I'd rather play, but not with Shorter blatting quite so much, or Corea providing a tolerable dose of the fusion I'll come to hate ("Bitches Brew," "Directions" [7.25/69]) ***

 

Omar Souleyman: Jazeera Nights (Sublime Frequencies)

Studio-recorded before he'd refined his crowd-pleasing wiles in the world marketplace, this dabke for dummies lacks a subtle but crucial quantum of give ("Hafer Bidi Gabrak [I Will Dig Your Grave With My Hands]," "Hot Il Khanjar Bi Gleibi [Stab My Heart]") ***

 

The Postal Service: Give Up: Deluxe 10th Anniversary Edition (Sub Pop)

First three new songs on the bonus disc gave me hope for the next four, which, well, you know (and there are also some pretty decent remixes/remakes!) ("Be Still My Heart," "A Tattered Line of String") **

Omar Souleyman: Dabke 2020 (Sublime Frequencies)

Arguably his most intense record, yet also arguably his most wearying and even sometimes dullest‑-the death-metal effect ("La Sidounak Sayyada," "Lansab Sherek") **

 

They Might Be Giants: Album Raises New and Troubling Questions (Idlewild)

A "rarities compilation" needn't maintain a surge, but it should peak more than this one does ("Authenticity Trip," "Marty Beller Mask," "Tubthumping") **

Jimi Hendrix: People, Hell and Angels (Legacy)

A superior barrel scrape, with Hendrix's comping behind Lonnie Youngblood worthy of the permanent collection ("Let Me Move You," "Somewhere") **

 

Fleetwood Mac: Rumours (Warner Bros.)

Live set on this three-CD exploitation might well entrance, outtakes disc will not ("Monday Morning," "Oh Daddy") *

 

 Live From Festival Au Desert Timbuktu (Clermont Music)

Recorded soundboard-to-Marant​z two days before full war broke out and sharia began its forced march through northern Mali, this doesn't translate as readily as the first edition a decade ago. Although Saharan music has gone somewhat international since then, there's even less melody and groove, widely known acts are few, and of those both Tartit and Bassekou Kouyate fail to peak. But when I buckled down to listen to six straight unfamiliar names in the middle, I concentrated effortlessly as the first four demonstrated different ways men can yell at each other, with Odwa's "Tamnana" winning the argument. Then right after Khaira Arby's "La Liberte" made an ideological point, and later her guitarist Oumar Konate made a godly one. Inshallah, they'll once again be sure of their freedom to play their music a year from now. A MINUS

Omar Souleyman: Highway to Hassake (Sublime Frequencies '07)

Souleyman's four Sublime Frequencies albums are similar enough to confuse the lay listener, especially one wary of letting backstory get in the way of the music itself. I tell myself I prefer 2011's Haflat Gharbia because it cherrypicks the non-Syrian performances of a shrewd guy who was by then a world traveler, but I'll never know for sure because it's also the first one I heard, an accident that can sway anyone's judgment. After many tries, I'm pretty sure this is my number two, so I was pleased to learn that it was the first best-of Mark Gergis sorted out for him. I'll also point out that although I fell for the breakneck pace of Haflat Gharbia, here the slow stuff is a respite. Since the subtitle is "Folk and Pop Sounds of Syria," it would seem possible that the slow equals the folk. But Gergis's useful notes make no such distinction. A MINUS

 

 

Ceramic Dog: Your Turn (Northern Spy)

Situated between the forlorn yowl "Lies My Body Told Me" and the impersonal slave chant "Masters of the Internet," the title track, a wordless showcase for leader Marc Ribot's guitar, redeems "rockism"'s raging glory days. I mean, these guys are pissed, yet without a hint of sexist strut or blues-boy self-pity. Six songs-with-lyrics, each with its own vocal signature although there's not a proper singer to be heard, and six instrumentals, some straight and some avant and one a loving yet crudely irreverent "Take Five" cover, converge toward the same goal: demolishing your musical illusions. Really, folks, don't try to download this one free. They want their money. When they say "We're not human like you/We live inside your iPod," that's called sarcasm. A MINUS

 

Chelsea Light Moving: Chelsea Light Moving (Matador)

For better or worse, and it's both, this is kind of what you'd figure sort of: a Sonic Youth record dominated by that band's most important member. It's also a record that makes us love Steve Shelley, because John Mooney's drums never propel Thurston past virtual pogo territory‑-and that says nothing of what a nice change it used to be to have someone besides Thurston sing. Imagine that "Sleeping Where I Fall" addresses his former bassist-wife if you want, but believe that the whole album is conceived as a bohemian history lesson. Present and accounted for are a flower child who prefers her music free, a song by Darby Crash, a song about Darby Crash, a song to William S. Burroughs, a song linking Dylan to Frank O'Hara, and "Groovy & Linda," who FYI were real hippie speed freaks surnamed Hutchinson and Fitzpatrick who were murdered in a boiler room two blocks from my apartment in 1967. B PLUS

 

 

 Wussy: Duo (Shake It)

Assuming these seven new-to-Wussy songs are de facto demos‑-for sure some and likely most but probably not all will be rocked up on a fifth album that now seems a certainty‑-we should think about not their acoustic settings but their acerbic subjects. No breakups here. Instead, three of Chuck Cleaver's lyrics address that other Wussy preoccupation, death, which invariably besets the kind of wacked-out and/or mean-ass loser who brains a monkey in the cheerfully entitled exception, "Ring a Ding Ding I'm Rotten Inside," while two of Lisa Walker's address yet another Wussy preoccupation, the failed consolations of religion. So her climactic praisesong to English girls who swim in the North Sea like it's summertime comes as a true relief, with Cleaver's piano tracing a delicate counterpoint. Inspirational Verse: "The Witnesses will all be waiting for the chance to be the first to squeal/As you're going through your souvenirs to help decide what is and isn't real." That's how I hear it, anyway. A MINUS

 

Wussy: Rigor Mortis (Shake It '08)

I underrated this EP five years ago because, having never seen the band play, I had no inkling of how much I'd end up valuing their live recordings‑-how much I'd love hearing two perfectly unmatched voices interact in the moment. The up-front redundancy of the title cut is now extended by the reappearance of the live "Rigor Mortis" and the formerly EP-only "Blood and Guts" on the free Berneice Huff mixtape. That said, I always thought the vibraphone-bedizened​ "Skip" was the choicest EP-only here, "Sweetie" squeaks and whooshes as it rocks out, "Millie Christine" adds a raw declarativeness one of their milder numbers thrives on, and "Airborne" is the finest version of their finest song, which leads their first and finest album. But of course, they're all worth owning. As is this. B PLUS