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With another year behind us, it's a pleasure to kickstart 2005 with some suggestions for spending that hard-earned (!) cash you got from Uncle Albert, Auntie Em, the parents and those wonderful grandparental units. Here is my wrap-up of the best releases I've heard in the last few months that are worth hunting down (and, in some cases, shooting)!

Rachel Goswell – Waves Are Universal (4AD)

Nearly 15 years ago, Ms. Goswell floated out of Reading on the wings of an angel and has been breaking my heart ever since with some of the most gorgeously ethereal vocals this side of Cocteau Twin, Liz Fraser, minus Liz’s trademark, occasionally indecipherable, invented language (“coct-ese”). Along with partner Neil Halstead, Goswell delivered seven albums of some of the best shoegazing pop and melancholic country folk to pass through our earwaves via their two disparate projects, Slowdive and Mojave 3. Halstead tested the solo waters a few years ago with the well-received Sleeping On Roads (2002, 4AD) and here we have one of the most eagerly anticipated solo releases in recent memory. As much as I’ve cherished Mojave’s recent releases (in fact, Spoon and Rafter was my favorite album last year), I’ve rued Rachel’s diminished role in the group as Halstead assumed most of the vocal duties. This is tantamount to having Sandy Denny stand around while Richard Thompson sang all the Fairport Convention tunes.

So what a pleasure it is to find my consternation was well-founded, as Goswell’s crystalline tones are treacle to my ears on these sedate, atmospheric, predominantly acoustic arrangements from guitarist Joe Light and producer/bassist, David Naughton that are not far removed from Mojave’s folky, Nick Drake/Leonard Cohen/Bob Dylan pop, suggesting that while Halstead’s name may be on all the M3 writing credits, it’s easy to spot his muse’s influence. “No Substitute” features Mojave’s laidback country vibe and could easily move a million units if released as a single in the US C&W market if they weren’t such a close-knit, Anglophobic lot. Linda Ronstadt or Emmylou Harris could work wonders with this one.

Goswell’s breathy, little girl squeals on “Deelay” are cannon fodder for teenage boys the world over (wink, wink), and us dirty old men can groove to Naughton’s beatnik-styled guitar knock, heartbeat accompaniment, and accordion flourish that adds a groovy European flavor. The naked honesty and intimate, closed-quarter arrangement (headphones, please) of “Plucked” turn it into one of the year’s most achingly beautiful love songs, and by the time Jeremy Perl’s cello and Bronwyn Stride’s violin wander into the room, there won’t be a dry eye in the house. “Hope” and “Shoulder the Blame” are more acoustic, folky winners in the finest Janis Ian /Mary Lou Lord tradition, with the latter particularly suited for immediate induction into Lord’s current setlist.

I think I heard a bead of perspiration break out on Rachel’s brow during “Coastline,” one of the album’s few rockers (featuring some stellar slide work from Light) and the set’s closest resemblance to Slowdive’s swirling wall of sound. Saving the best for last, closer “Sleepless & Tooting” may be the year’s most perfect pop confection. (The title, by the way, refers to the location of the studio (The Sleep Shelter) where it was recorded, not “tooting” a doobie before bedtime!) Essential listening, especially in front of a warm fireplace as the cold, wet, wintry months creep up on us, and one of the year’s best.

AqPop – Beautifully Smart (35g/Happy Happy Birthday To Me)

After a couple of sprightly EPs and highlight tracks on both International League of Telepathic Explorers compilations, Norway’s AqPop (formerly Chime Poppers and Aquarium Poppers) present their debut full length. Comparisons with their Trondheim neighbors, Dipsomaniacs are perhaps inevitable, as singer/songwriter/guitarist Thor Jørgen Holm is Dipso leader, Øyvind’s brother and their keyboardist, Thomas Henriksen contributes some playful keyboards on the catchy, pop/psych opener, “Have It.” But the band forge their own identity on the storming instrumental, “Radio 60,” copping riffs left and right from The Beatles, Kinks and probably a couple of other original Brit-Poppers (sorry!) in the process. Holm’s own snap-happy, cheesy keys turns “Screen” in to a happy-feet winner, while drop-dead gorgeous Jade Hasselgård’s harmonies provide a refreshing spark to the title track, “Beautifully Smart, She’s Standing There” and her opening piano fills add a melancholic touch to her wistfully romantic, proggy centerpiece, “The Day.”

And dig her operatic solo opening to “Caught By This Feeling,” a song co-written by the Holm brothers and fellow AqPop guitarist, Karl Morten Dahl, and so completely rearranged from the version that appears on the Dipso’s latest, Praying Winter as to be a totally new song. Whether this was intentional to distinguish it from the earlier-released version or whether this is the way it was “supposed” to sound like all along doesn’t really matter. My advice is to sit back and enjoy both.

Dahl and Holm’s twin-guitar attack drives the punchy, hard rocking “Command Smile:able” on the back of Andreas Knudsen’s rolling drum fills, and their slow, deliberate change-of-pace “Syranid” combines Holm’s creepy, haunted-house organ with swirling guitar pyrotechnics and Hasselgård’s angelic harmonies for another monolithic prog monster. [Note to dudes: let’s give Jade more to do next time!] Overall, a rewarding debut that more than fulfills their early promise and yet more evidence that Norwegian rock is so much more than foo-foo electronic cheese wiz from Bergen. Trondheim Rules!

The Bevis Frond – Hit Squad (Woronzow/Rubric)

The nineteenth (although with multi-volume sets, it's closer to thirtieth) album from Walthamstow's favorite son finds singer/songwriter/guitarist Nick Saloman and bassist Ade Shaw (also the braintrust behind the highly collectable Woronzow imprint) joined by new drummer Jules Fenton, who replaces longtime companion, Andy Ward. Opener "All Set?" (featuring some wonderfully nostalgic trumpet blasts from Roddy Lorimer) sounds like Saloman has spent a lot of time listening to his old Genesis albums, and with the fire-breathing "Dragons" and the anthemic, fist-pumping, Big Country-inspired opening guitar riff to "Through The Hedge," it appears we may be in for The Frond's entry into what Nick himself has referred to as "the acceptable face of prog!" One could even (mis)interpret the latter's lyrics to bear out this theory: "Progressive disconnection took me to the edge/I feel like time has dragged me backwards through the hedge." Even Geddy Lee couldn't come up with a better load of twaddle than that one!

The "Come Together" riff throughout "I Feel Bad About You" underscores Nick's avowed love of The Beatles, while daughter, Debbie provides lovely harmonies on the tongue-in-cheek title track, another entry in Nick's vitriolic love/hate relationship with his fans/detractors (cf. North Circular's "The Pips"). "Alpha Waves" is another of The Frond's patented killer pop songs, featuring a hummable chorus and a catchy guitar riff whose inspiration clever trainspotters may be able to catch. I'm tempted to suggest this (along with "Through The Hedge") may be a little tribute to the late, great Stuart Adamson, although here I'm reminded of his work with Big Country's pre-cursor, Skids, particularly the anthemic "Into The Valley."

Nick gets smooth and soulful on the nostalgic "Way Back When" with Debbie's wonderful hushabye harmonies again to the fore. I also like the pretty pop of "Flood Warning," which reminded me of some of the mellower moments on Son of Walter and North Circular, the swirling, synth-driven prog/pop of "No Attempt" with another nice trumpet break from Lorimer, and "High Point," which may be Nick's first foray into country rock, complete with his smashing harmonica break and a toe-tapping rhythm straight off of Neil Young's "Cripple Creek Ferry." And for you metalheads, there's even a fairly blatant "borrowing" of Jimmy Page's riff from "Black Dog" forming the basis of the album's heaviest track, "Am I Burning?" But Nick is an equal-opportunity poacher, and the epic, 11½-minute closer, "Fast Falls The Eventide" builds upon his own opening solo from New River Head's "God Speed You To Earth" for a cotton-mouthed head nodder, featuring Fenton's phased drumming(!) and an extended, dreamy synth coda. It should come with a warning sticker, "Do not drive or operate heavy machinery while listening to this track!"

With 18 tracks clocking in at just under 79 minutes, Nick once again ensures his fans get their money's worth, and while Hit Squad occasionally misses a few of its targets (e.g. "Mission Completed," "Your Little Point" and "Doing Nothing" are nice guitar solos that could have used better "songs" to house them, although Shaw's throbbing basslines on the latter will be sticking in my head for days), the latest version of The Bevis Frond marks a refreshing start that takes chances with a few new styles (prog, soul, country rock) and opens the door for many great things to come. It's their strongest release since North Circular, and is essential for fans, while not a bad starting place for novices to discover what all the fuss is about.

This Years Blonde - This Years Blonde (Blonde Bitch Goddess)

Despite his jet-black, wavy mohawk that makes him look like a re-Fried Julian Cope, tattooed love boy Kiki du Parré IS T.Y.B., and this is his debut album, although he previously played in El Lay punk bands, Baby Jane, Flesh Toys and Amphetamine Blue in the 80s. His songs are very theatrical, with influences ranging from glam-era Bowie ("I'm Doing Well") to the more elaborately gothic aspects of Bauhaus (du Parré's voice bears more than a passing resemblance to Peter Murphy's on several tracks, such as the swirling ballad, "To The Night") to the pop stylings of a Jim Steinman. There's also traces of his punk background (opener "I'm Doing Well" borrows its storming guitar riff straight off of The Alley Cat's "Black-Haired Girl") and he's equally adept at crafting both dreamy, romantic ballads ("Echoes") and Teutonic techno marches a la Rammstein and Front 242 ("Violated"). I also liked the neo-glam of Space Hog and Nancy Boy that is evident on tracks like "Big Star," a great choice for lead single. Recommended to fans of Lycia, Minneapolis' Skye Klad, Cleopatra's Goth Box, collectors of the Projekt and Neurot labels and everyone else interested in exploring the current state of the gothic scene.

Grimble Grumble – Leaves Leader (Pehr)

One of Chicago's finest psychedelic space rock bands returns from a seven year itch with new guitarist Josh Hudson joining the core trio of drummer Mike Bulington, guitarist Saleem Dhamee and bassist/vocalist Christine Garcia. Leaves Leader is only their second full length, although numerous EPs, 45s and compilations are floating around out there for fanatics and completists to track down. Dhamee's trademark intricate guitar lines once again form the framework for mellow, heavy-lidded excursions into dreamland with a slightly poppier exterior this time. Martinez' slightly buried and muffled vocals recall Isobel Sollenberger's somnambulist warbling, imbuing several tracks with a Bardo Pond vibe, although, like Liz Fraser (of Cocteau Twins) before her, it's not what she says (the lyrics are fairly unintelligible), but how she says it that ultimately adds another instrument to the already heady mix.

While I've been frustrated by the Bardo's recent unstructured excesses, the basic blueprint of the light and fluffy female vox lifting the heavy psychedelic sludge out of its muck and mire is something I enjoy and by reining in those excesses and providing more structure to the improvisational jams, Grimble Grumble succeed where the Bardos have left me cold and Leaves Leader is certainly recommended to listeners in the same uncomfortable headspace.

The soft, cloud-floating vibe of "Wish Song" contrasts with the adrenaline-fueled "Casanova," adding a welcome variety to the album, although the abrupt coda to the former may result in a bummer of a head crash. The dirgy, molasses crawl of "Intro" builds from its Stonesy "Moonlight Mile" opening to a pulsating, atomic-powered mindfuck before yielding to the acoustic strum of "Fall," itself evolving into a scrunching, squawking, head-rattling guitar duel between Dhamee and Hudson with Martinez' throbbing, Crazy Horse basslines bouncing your head off the walls. Fuck Pearl Jam - I want to hear Neil Young jam with these guys. I think you'll also like the low-key swampy swagger of "Emma Sleeping Blues" - sort of like Creedence on 'ludes.

A welcome return and exciting addition to the collections of fans of Bardo Pond, Linus Pauling Quintet, Kinski, Paik and other heavy, psychedelic, predominantly instrumental jam bands.

Luna – Rendezvous (Jetset)

Whether it’s a marketing ploy to boost sales (unlikely) or the God’s honest truth (even more unlikely), singing guitarist Dean Wareham has written on their official website that Luna’s seventh album (there’s a couple of EPs and a dodgy live LP as well) will be their last (they’re currently in the midst of their “farewell tour,” and expect to close shop in early ’05). What is undeniable is that it may just be their best release since their masterpiece, Bewitched a full decade ago. The toe-tapping pop rock of “Malibu Love Nest” starts the ball rolling on an exciting high note and Wareham’s trademark downhome country snarl is in fine form throughout, even if his lyrics still stoop to such pedestrian groaners as “Your purple mouth says snicker smack” (“Cindy Tastes of Barbecue”), “It’s raining rain, it’s raining snow” (Speedbumps”), “There's a girl in Nolita I really wanna snuckle/At the supermarket I have to bite my knuckle” (“Buffalo Boots”) and “I’m not the Jack of diamonds/I’m not the six of spades/I don’t know what you thought/I’m not your astronaut” (from “Astronaut,” which originally appeared on the “Close Cover Before Striking” EP). Huh?!?

The rhythm section of Britta Phillips (bass) and Lee Wall (drums) punches some hard-driving life into “Speedbumps” and the Ha-wah-wah-iian vibe of “The Owl & The Pussycat” is all the incentive you’ll need to pack your bags and head for the Aloha State to set up a hammock between a couple of palm trees and start sipping piña coladas. The sleepy, slide opening of “Star-Spangled Man” reminds me of Roxy Music’s “More Than This,” and its hooky chorus will stick in your head for days. Finally, the country-tinged Americana of guitarist Sean Eden’s poppy “Still At Home” is another pleasant change of pace, with some groovy Neil Young & Crazy Horse-styled soloing from Sean and Dean, and the boys really kick out the jams and wear their Velvet Underground inspirations on their sleeves for the rollicking “Buffalo Boots.”

As a swan song, it’s a fitting reminder of how great Luna could be and a worthy addition to their spotty, but mostly enjoyable discography. Whether Dean and Britta decide to concentrate on their Mazzy Star Lite duet project or he decides to surround himself with new musicians and start a new band, at least we’ll have Rendezvous to remind us of all the good times Luna has brought us over the past decade.

Leonard Cohen – Dear Heather (Columbia) 

The iconoclastic Cohen, who just turned 70 in September is truly the grand old man of rock and roll, with perhaps more tribute albums than any other artist (there are over two dozen documented on his website by artists from Scandinavia, Poland, South Africa, Spain, Germany, Hungary, Italy, et. al., including entire disks of Cohen material by Judy Collins (Judy Collins Sings Leonard Cohen: Democracy) and Jennifer Warnes (Famous Blue Raincoat). Artists as diverse as Billy Joel, Elton John, Willie Nelson, Buffy Sainte-Marie and Tom Rapp/Pearls Before Swine and a whole generation of alterna-rockers from John Cale and Nick Cave to Ian McCulloch, The Green Pajamas, The Pixies and R.E.M. have covered his songs and some (particularly McCulloch and PJ’s frontman Jeff Kelly) have specifically cited Cohen as a major influence on their songwriting careers. In total, over 900 versions of Cohen’s songs have been recorded.

All this in honor of a man who is not exactly the world’s most prolific artist (this is only his 11^th studio album in over 35 years, although several live and greatest hits packages also exist) and perhaps sensing this may be his final opportunity to pay tribute to his own friends and inspirations, he dedicates songs to his early mentors, Canadian poets Irving Layton (by setting Lord Byron’s “Go No More A-Roving” to original music) and A.M. Klein (“To A Teacher”), as well as the recently deceased Carl Anderson, who played Judas in Jesus Christ Superstar (“Nightingale”). Cohen’s tongue-in-cheek wit and self-deprecating humor is evident in “Because Of,” which begins, “Because of a few songs/Wherein I spoke of their mystery,/Women have been/Exceptionally kind/to my old age,” and while the song occasionally drifts into self-parody (longtime fans have been known to mimic Cohen’s delivery like Joe Piscopo impersonating Frank Sinatra), it’s refreshing to hear an artist of Cohen’s stature poke fun at himself with such gleeful pride.

With a gravelly, sandpaper voice so low it makes Tom Waits and Barry White sound like castratos, LC oozes more sexuality than rock’s sex symbols 1/3 his age. He’s low key and relaxed throughout, with several songs little more than poetry recitations (“Morning Glory,” Frank Scott’s “Villanelle for Our Time,” featuring Anjani Thomas’ sweet harmonies that provide a gentle counterpoint to Cohen’s gruff exterior, and his eulogy to Klein, “To A Teacher”) and one (“Undertow”) where he’s even relegated to singing backing vocals (for Thomas) on his own album! Still, “There For You” bears that swaying melody and clipped delivery that’s been his trademark since his 1968 debut.

Cohen has said there’s no Heather, per se; thus the title song becomes an ode to perhaps his ideal, unattainable woman, although his robotic delivery and the playful organ and trumpet backing (by Sarah Kramer) turn this into a children’s song and one can envision Lenny singing this to his grandchildren (at one point he even resorts to spelling the lyrics!) Finally, the toe-tapping country jig of “Nightingale,” complete with Cohen’s own Jew’s harp backing will have you kicking up your heels in no time, and while this is as much a spoken word album as anything else, it still is Leonard Cohen. It may be the last we will hear from him, and while certainly not ranking with the best of his later releases like I’m Your Man and The Future, like any idol who may be past his prime, it still beats the prospect of eternal silence from a friend you’ve grown up with and is a pleasure to hear the master one more time.

OM Trio – Global Positioning Record (Black Beauty)

Fresh from their victory in the 2004 Relix Magazine Jamoff, New Jersey’s OM Trio (bassist Pete Novembre, drummer Ilya Stemkovsky, and keyboardist Brian Felix, who’s also in Mushroom) have self-released four albums in the last five years, with combined sales topping 10,000 (mostly at gigs during the five months of every year they spend on the road). This grueling schedule has won them numerous fans and caught the ears of marvelous San Francisco imprint, Black Beauty, who has entertained us with recent releases from eclectic jazz cats, Ralph Carney and Eddie Gale, as well as the wonderful Mushroom album, Glazed Popems.

“Shant” kicks off their fifth release with a bubbling, belching call to order, and it isn’t long before your happy feet’ll hit the floor dancing to Novembre’s throbbing bass, Stemkovsky’s pounding rhythms and Felix’s perculating keyboard runs on “L” (which also appears on the Relix JAM OFF! compilation disk). An early highlight, the track soon settles into a smooth, rolling funk groove under Felix’s spaceage bachelor pad keyboard sprinkles. His infectious organ runs, coupled with funky throbmeister, Novembre’s rolling bass and hyperkinetic fills from Stemkovsky keep the ball rolling and the toes a-tapping on “Discrepancy.” Felix’s punctuated riffing on “Bulbous” brought back pleasant memories of Argent and had me scouring my record collection for “Hold Your Head Up,” and the scorching six-string fireworks on “Drop Q” and “Frankenstein”-ish Edgar Winter inflections on “Tor S” from guest axe wielder, Jason Concepcion amply demonstrate that r-o-c-k is not a dirty, four-letter word to these guys!

Felix’s beeping, boinking sci-fi SETI signals add a bit of fun to the rollicking, funky grooves of “Demarcation,” and Stemkovsky’s asymmetric, industrial percussives on “Hence” sound like he’s running a chop shop or building a Harley out in the garage. An infectious, funky, fun-filled, groove-laden party in a jewel case, you’ll definitely want to add this to your collection.

The Occasion – The Occasion
Inouk – No Danger
(both from Say Hey)

Girl Friday – Swimmer (Get Fresh)

A couple of interesting new releases highlighting the best of the current NYC scene. First up, The Occasion:

“The Midwife,” the leadoff track on this NYC quintet’s debut, shows a subtle fascination with the vocal and compositional stylings of Leonard Cohen, as does the shuffling, delicate “Dulcimer’s Fancy,” the latter featuring a particularly memorable walking bassline from Marlon Sporer. The multi-layered harmonies also add a nice Wilsonesque (as in Brian) touch to the mix. These leadoff tracks also evince more than a passing fancy with the quirky pop side of Luna. The aggressive, hyperkinetic stalker “I Can’t Stop Falling” tears a page out of the John Cale cookbook, particularly his angry,  Guts/Sabotage period. He’d be wise to contact these guys for his next CBGB’s gig.

I also like the short burst of aggressive tension in “The Deserters” and the sleepy, morose downer “Smoke and Mirrors,” which can also hold its head high amidst the best of Dean Wareham’s confessionals. The short album wraps with a live version of “Annika,” a snarling, throbbing, haunted house screamalong that tongue-in-cheekily melds Gordon Gano and the Violent Femmes to Jonathan Richman and The Modern Lovers for a theatrical haunted hayride that threatens to rip your heart right out of your chest! A bit OVERLY melodramatic, perhaps, but the Goth kids and you old Swans and Bauhaus fans will love it, and it adds an intriguing new dimension to this band, simulatneously suggesting they could be more than a one trick pony and a bitchin’ live attraction to boot.

The debut full-length from the Brooklyn quintet Inouk boasts four guitarists, including the singing McMahons (Damon, 23, and his kid bro, Alexander, 21), lead axeman Ian Fenger and Jesse Johnson, who usually holds down bass duties. Drummer Glen Brasile rounds out the group. “What I Want” and the title track reminded me favorably of another brother-led band, Welsh glam rockers Gene Loves Jezebel. Inouk (enigmatically named after either an invisible childhood friend, French actress Anouk Aimee, or a bandmember’s dead grandmother), occasionally flash the glitz of a Broadway musical, with “Elected” bearing more than a titular similarity to late-period Alice Cooper. The swaying, sleepy prog suite “Search For The Bees” (the title track from their debut EP) is another winner, sort of like a ballsier Supertramp.

“With the Birds” pushes the quirky envelope even further over the edge and will have Elephant 6 fans  (particularly of the Olivia Tremor Control and Neutral Milk Hotel variety) creaming in their jeans for more. The downhome, alt.country twang of “Somewhere In France” wears its John Darnielle stamp of (idiosyncratic) approval on its sleeve and wouldn’t be out of place on any of his recent Mountain Goats albums, and the get-up-and-dance toetapper, “Island” is a catchy pop gem that eventually morphs into a drunken Irish singalong.

Things fizzle out somewhat towards the end with the silly, Black 47-ish “Nudie Suit;” and the dreary, acoustic suicide note “Cherry Orchard” seems oddly out of sorts with its more upbeat surroundings. Still, the preceding good times prove to be a worthy introduction to this promising new band that’s worth keeping an eye on.

Last, but not least, the self-released debut from the trio known as Girl Friday features a heady mix of punky power pop (particularly opener “Give Over”), torchy jazz ballads and soul searching confessionals, mostly from the pen of singer/guitarist Amanda Dora. Numerous friends provide harmony vocals throughout, which opens the sound considerably, giving the sonic appearance of a much larger band. “Make My Peace” is another punchy, hard rocker in the style of ‘80s legends, The Pandoras, but this early burst of high energy is derailed considerably by the sleepy floater “Leave No Worry Here” and the jazzy, wah-wah torch song “Lost” (kudos to trumpeter, Todd Horton). While the latter is memorable as a winning combination of Saint Etienne and Portishead, both of these tracks might have fared better if resequenced deeper into the album.

On first listen, “Worthy” appears to use a sultry Gwen Stefani approach to rope the No Doubt fans in, but it thankfully proceeds to put everything in their catalogue to shame. The over-the-top theatricality of “Ravaged” may come across better in concert – it needs the visuals to support its dramatic presentation, but “Meadow Song” is an intriguing marriage of Amanda’s delicately sweet vocals with a ballsy heavy rock backing and “Alone” is the best (unintentional, I’m sure) impersonation of Delores O’Riordan and The Cranberries I’ve heard yet, but don’t let that scare you off – its wistful, swaying melody and gentle harmonies (from David Bowie’s bassist, Gail Ann Dorsey) combine to make it the perfect choice for lead single and deserves heavy college radio airplay.

I swear I detected a hint of Karen Carpenter’s angelic sighs in “Don’t Know Anything” and the strings are definitely a winning embellishment, as are Sean McCaul’s vibes and John Cabán’s impressive wailing solos on the title track, a dreamy, psychedelic headswirler that, like this impressive debut, merits repeated listens.

The Donnas – Gold Medal (Atlantic)

Did I miss the memo? When did The Donnas change their name to The Avrils? Whether this mess is attributable to corporate pressure to come up with a “hit” album is debateable, but saddling the saviours of female punk rock with Ms. Lavigne’s current producer/opening act, Butch Walker (the former Marvelous 3 frontman who’s currently whining his way through a lackluster solo career full of sub-Matthew Sweet treacle on little known albums like Left of Self-Centered and Letters) and turning Brett (“Donna A”) Anderson into that Canadian slackette (particularly on “Is That All You’ve Got For Me”) almost had me ripping the disk out of the player and frisbeeing it across the room. It’s simply a blatant act of flipping the middle finger to Donnaholics everywhere.

Just as teenie poppers Good Charlotte commited career suicide with their recent attempt at “growth” in the form of that silly concept album The Chronicles of Life and Death (ho-hum, yawn!) which did little more than drive their fans back into Billie Joe Green Day’s arms in one of this year’s biggest and silliest rock showdowns: the battle of the punk concept albums, The Avrils, er, The Donnas’ feeble attempts to fix what ain’t broken on their seventh album together (including their eighth-grade skronkfest as The Electrocutes, Steal Yer Lunch Money) finds them jettisoning their steady diet of high energy, Runaways/Girlschool-inspired punkette anthems in favor of bland, slick, overproduced snorers (save the safe, cotton candy, sugar sweet, watered down arrangements for your swooning solo material, Mr. Walker).

A clue that the girls may be unwitting pawns in their label’s pitiful attempt to move product can be found in a lyric from the lead single, “Fall Behind Me” – “How long does she have to dumb it down?” There, in a nutshell, is the problem with this record. Since the whole concept of The Donnas is good, clean, dumb fun, bragging about it is sledgehammer marketing of the worst kind, even if it is accurate: Gold Medal is nothing less than the “dumbing down” of the Donnas. After ten years, even the coy euphemisms of “Revolover” (“Half cocked and fully loaded” and “You’re deeper than you’ve ever been before”) have crossed the line from silly-but-cute to terminally stupid. It’s too bad they don’t have the clout to take a hint from George Costanza and spit right back, “I’m not gonna dumb it down for some bonehead mass audience!” [from the Seinfeld episode, “The Comeback”]

A slick glossy sheen is evident immediately on opener, “I Don’t Want To Know,” which buries its fist-pumping anthemic riffing under a barrage of hairspray and glitzy makeup. The unnecessary, extended bass solo tacked on to the end of “Don’t Break Me Down” is an embarrassing exercise in album filler that does nothing but showcase Maya (“Donna F”) Ford’s chops. “Friends Like Mine” is so nondescript, it was over before I realised it even started. Memo to Atlantic: THE DONNAS ARE NOT SUPPOSED TO SOUND LIKE BACKGROUND MUSIC. HELLO!!.

The acoustic (you read that right!) soft-shoe shuffling title track even throws a piano into the mix. Acoustic guitars?!? Pianos?!? On a Donnas album?!? Jesus Christ, what’s the world coming to. Listening to these 11 clunkers is like being bludgeoned to death with a bunch of bananas – it’s slow, annoying, and ultimately very painful. And even though there’s fleeting evidence of their early Runaways/Girlschool inspiration, this album is as flat as those early beacons of female punk’s (musical) suicide notes, And Now… and Play Dirty, which, coincidentally, were also produced by heavyweights in an attempt to move product (Thin Lizzy producer John Alcock and Slade’s Jimmie Lea and Noddy Holder, respectively).

One thing I never thought The Donnas would become was a pretentiously boring, 80’s hair band, but Gold Medal is definitely and unfortunately a bad hair day. Hopefully they’ve got this shit out of their system and if returning to the world of indie labels that spawned them is what it takes to get them back on track, so be it. You can help by avoiding this album at all costs. Hopefully Lookout will welcome the prodigal sisters back with open arms. My favorite lyric on the whole album comes from “It Takes One To Know One” – “Is this just a death wish?” Well, my dears, that’s entirely up to what you do next.

Social Distortion – Sex, Love and Rock ‘n’ Roll (Time Bomb)

“Reach for the Sky,” the opening track to Social D’s comeback album (their first in eight years and only the sixth in their 25 year career) is a “lightbulb” moment for all you aging punk rockers out there, as it encapsulates the entire kiddie punk movement from Green Day, Sum 41, and Good Charlotte to the entire Drive Thru roster inside its aggressive, firebreathing three-and-a-half minutes. Following a couple of uneventful solo albums, Mike Ness and his new partners, ex-U.S. Bombs/Cadillac Tramps guitarist Jonny “2 Bags” Wickersham, legendary drummer Charlie Quintana (whose played with everyone from Los Cruzados, Cracker and Soul Asylum to Dylan, Joan Osborne and Izzy Stradlin) and recently departed bassist John Maurer (Rancid’s Matt Freeman has replaced him on the current tour) are finally getting the recognition they deserve with this, their best album since 1991’s self titled, major label (Epic) debut. The mission statement “Don’t Take Me For Granted” (dedicated to former lead guitarist Dennis Dannel, who passed away from a brain aneurysm on Leap Day, 2000) contains the seminal line “I’m the volume in your fucked-up teenage band” and should be mandatory listening to all you fucked-up teenage bands schlepping across the US stages and cluttering our airwaves with your moronic whining. To paraphase Ralph Kramden, “Step aside… some men are gonna play some music and show you the glorious results of a misspent youth.”

And while the kids may scratch their heads quizzically at the bluesy sludge of “Footprints on My Ceiling,” it’s a lesson learned that not everything has to be played at 100 mph. Fans, new and old, will enjoy the punchy, punky adrenaline rush of “Live Before I Die,” Ness’s nifty guitar solo on “I Wasn’t Born To Follow” – definitely NOT the old Byrds tune, and the anthemic, heart-pounding closer “Angel’s Wings,” which may be his best song since, coincidentally, “When The Angels Sing.” Ness can also be counted on for a few self-deprecating, barnstorming confessionals to score pity points with the babes in the audience (from the self-titled’s “Ball and Chain” to Somewhere Between Heaven & Hell’s “Born To Lose” to White Light White Heat White Trash's “I Was Wrong”), and here the award goes to “Winners and Losers,” where once again Ness plays the role of the sad sack down on his luck at the edge of his rope. Overall, a ripsnorting return to form by one of punk rock’s undisputed legends.

The Cure – The Cure (Geffen)

Well, what have we here? A quarter of a century after creating, perfecting and then abandoning that silly “gothic” moniker, one of the last bands standing from the NWOBPR (New Wave of British Punk Rock) have jumped the Elecktra ship that helped launch them in America and signed with crosstown rivals, Geffen. All I can say is Elektra’s loss is Geffen’s nightmare, for, aside from Bloodflowers, this, the band’s fifteenth album (excluding numerous “best of” collections), may be the second worse release in their entire catalogue (following the universally reviled The Top.) 

The creepy, crawly, screaming opener “Lost” sounds like an outtake from Kiss Me³ (along the lines of “The Snake Pit”) and things don’t get any better with Robert Smith’s heavily distorted, muffled, tuneless vocals on “Labyrinth.” [Once again, as on The Donnas disastrous Gold Medal (reviewed above), a major label insists on sticking some “hot” producer (Ross Robinson) who knows nothing about the band into the studio to coax a “hit album” out of them, and he ends up making them sound like Korn or Slipknot. Here’s to you, Mr. Robinson. Now, go home and take your bullshit, whining, vomit-inducing, crap bands with you.] But then just when we start to be overcome with the cold grip of fear that we might be saddled with another shitstorm along the lines of The Top, Smith & Co. whip off one of their patented pop confections with the catchy melody and gorgeous descending guitar riff of “Before Three,” one of their best songs in years. Matters continue to improve with the playful “The End of The World,” complete with goofy Ramones-meet-The Beach Boys “ooh-ee-ooh” backing vocals and another killer melody on par with “Friday I’m In Love,” right down to Smith’s soaring, castrato vocal coda. And “Anniversary” is another one of Smith’s tearjerking, confessional weepers that worked so well on Disintegration.

However, just when there’s hope that The Cure’s pop side may win out over Robinson’s heavy-handed sludgy production, the vitriolic, foul-mouthed horseshit of “Us Or Them” comes along to burst the listener’s bubble; but then the stale taste of defeat is quickly washed away and flashes of their earlier brilliance trickle through on “Taking Off,” a swinging, upbeat headnodder reminiscent of the good old days when Smith was at the peak of his songwriting powers and blessed us with the brilliant trilogy of Head On The Door, Disintegration and Wish. While they’ve fail to achieve such grandiose heights on anything they’ve done since, this is at least a slight improvement over the depressingly awful Wild Mood Swings and Bloodflowers, but I still suggest you avoid this wildly uneven tug-of-war, an ultimately very boring, disappointing set.

Perhaps the album’s most telling lyric appears in “alt.end” – “It’s only that it’s over and done for me/It’s already been and gone/And I don’t want another go around – I want this to be the end.” After all the threats and hints that Smith was going to disband The Cure, perhaps it’s time to take his own advice and hang up his six-string and fade quietly into the background and rest on his laurels. They’ve done well: at least half a dozen terrific albums, several sets of genre-defining trilogies (including the “suicide” trilogy of Faith, Seventeen Seconds and Pornography) and an entire world of black-clad, make-up wearing gothic ghoulies hanging on their every move. While this is certainly not the swan song we want to remember them by (and fans looking for closure on their Cure catalogue are well advised to hunt down the B-sides box Join The Dots), I think it’s time to quit before they do any irreparable damage to their legacy.

Greyscale – Cruel Machine (Camera Obscura)

An expansive, shimmering metallic sheen awaits the listener of “Brute Force,” the opening track of this Aussie trio’s debut full length. While terms like “nebulous” and “amorphic” are bandied about these days with reckless abandon, they are particularly apt descriptions of the sonic textures nestled within. The multi-layered guitars and electronics of Paul Rigby and Cass Wigley combine throughout with drummer Paul Sloan’s radio transmissions to put you in the same headspace as a Kinski, Paik, Scenic and SubArachnoid Space, particularly on tracks like “Flight One Hundred.”

The sexy, space age bachelor pad schmoozer, “Le Saboteur” has enough quirky effects and sideways glances to welcome favorable comparisons with former (and, now, sadly disbanded) labelmates Olivia Tremor Control and Witch Hazel Sound, as does the European bistro vibe of the sashaying, girl-watching, Kimbal entertainer organ-driven, “Bohemian Astronaut.” “Echocycle” and “Tryptanology“ are gorgeously cinematic, atmospheric floaters and “Pax Americana” begins with one of the longest rising crescendo intros I’ve heard all year before morphing into a brain-frying collage of Bardo Pond and Linus Pauling Quartet with just a hint of the Acid Mothers Temple off in the distance. Sleepy Floydisms appear throughout the proggy psychedelia of “Silicon and Steel” and the whirling oscillators and electronic effects hint at a not-so-subtly repressed Hawkwind gene somewhere in the family tree.

After several quirky, but nonetheless rewarding wyrdfolk releases, it’s great to hear one of my favorite psychedelic labels back at the top of their game with one of their (and this year’s) finest psychedelic instrumental releases.

März – Wir Sind Hier (Karaoke Kalk)

German duo Albrecht Kunze and Ekkehard Ehlers open their sophomore effort with the gently acoustic “Forever Never,” which floats through the room on a feather and a sigh. The avant garde sonic experimentation of the field recordings “März Im Park” and “Oktober Im Park” (March and October in the Park, respectively) mix backwoods banjo-driven German folk songs with sounds of laughter, babbling brooks, bicycle bells and assorted percussive effects to the point of distraction, and the album would have been even more enjoyable without them. But the proggy, mildly psychedelic “The River” rescues the day with its appropriately rolling melody which reminded me of Peter Gabriel fronting The Dream Academy covering The Byrds “Ballad of Easy Rider” and features nice trombone flourishes from Jakobus Siebels.

Glitch music fans may enjoy the next musical interlude, “Tropige Trauben” (I’m guessing “Tropical Dreams”), but others will be left scratching their heads at this puzzling phenomenon – the digital equivalent of the old scratching technique employed by turntablists back in the 80s, the most famous example of which is probably Herbie Hancock’s “Rockit.”

The swirling, loopy “Blaue Fäden (“Blue Threads”), which, along with “The River,” previously appeared on a limited edition 10”, would make a perfect entry in Darla’s “Bliss Out” series and compares favorably with the works of Jim Rao (aka, Orange Cake Mix) and Detroit ambient spacerockers, Füxa.

And just when you think you’ve got a handle on März’s sound, they hit you with “Some Things Do Fall,” a childishly silly, infectious as hell loop whose lyric consists of the title repeated ad infinatum over a jaunty, carnival-like backing, and the carny atmosphere continues on the jovial instrumental “Biber & Enten” (“Beavers & Ducks”), and it’s soft-shoe shuffle rhythm will put a smile on even the most jaded listener’s face.

I also liked the romantically quiet strings, vibes and electronics of “Welt Am Draht” (“World at the Wire,” which, probably not coincidentally, was also the title of a 1973 Fassbinder movie for German television), which wouldn’t be out of place on a Soothing Sounds for baby compilation, and if there was a better example of pure pop perfection than the aptly titled “The Pop Song,” I’ve yet to hear it. So, despite some minor misgivings on the electronic noodlings, experimental sonic collages and field recordings, this is one of the year’s prettiest, quietest releases and is highly recommended to fans of soothing, electronic soundscapes.

Moon Trotskij – I Fell But Andromeda Rose To The Stars (Goddamn I’m A Countryman)

In the grand tradition of one-track albums, such as Tull’s Thick As A Brick and A Passion Play, Sleep’s Jerusalem and Acid Mothers Temple’s La Novia, along comes the debut solo album from Spacious Mind guitarist/vocalist Henrik Oja. With the exception of some percussive assistance from David Sandström, Oja plays all the instruments, including bass, keys, tapes, samples, and digital treatments. From the shamanic opening, Oja is the tribal elder, summoning us to prayer with acoustic guitar and glockenspiel-ish keyboard effects slowly building to exquisite guitar lines familiar to those with spacious minds. After about 9 minutes, the skies burst open with heavy-metal thunder, and the second segment begins as a contemplative aerial view of the spoils of war as Huginn and Muninn (the all-seeing ravens from Swedish mythology) survey the carnage and prepare to report back to Odin. Ending with a soft stroll along the beach, Oja’s synths and sound effects direct the aerial dance of flocks of seagulls, as they kiss the water’s surface, signaling the rise of whales, dolphins and other aquatic sealife on the horizon. A short vocal segment (lyrics courtesy Spacious Mind keyboardist Jens Unosson) ends part two as the door (literally) slams shut on the outer world. The third segment begins with tinkling keyboards and meditative tablas, and proceeds into an extended exploration of inner space, highlighted by mandolins gently plucking at the brain tags we’ve sprinkled throughout our mind to identify and remember our most enjoyable experiences.

I long ago championed Oja as one of the most underrated guitar gods in our midst, and there are times when I was reminded favorably of Disintegration-era Robert Smith, Silver Wheel of Prayer-era Roy Montgomery, or Makoto Kawabata’s meditative solo pieces (Infinite Love and You Are The Moonshine). So if you are thinking, “Guitarist solo album…must be a 45-minute wankoff,” I must report that you are sadly (and gladly) mistaken. Oja is simply not that type of guitarist and this album is that much better because of it. It’s both free-form and structured—breaking it into three segments helps the listener’s fatigue factor, and moments of headache-y, stoner metallica are tempered with floating, cloudlike passages of exquisite beauty.

The Green Pajamas – Ten White Stones (Hidden Agenda)

First off, a confession: Seattle’s Green Pajamas are one of my current favorite bands. Recent releases on two of the best and most widely respected indie labels (Strung Behind The Sun, All Clues Lead To Megan’s Bed and Northern Gothic on the Australian Camera Obscura imprint and 7 Fathoms Down and Falling and This Is Where We Disappear on England’s Woronzow) have graced many year end “best of” lists, including mine. Lately, however, their releases have been sporadic and wildly uneven, partially due to the difficulty in getting everyone together in the recording studio (they all have day jobs) and partially due to the pursuit of other projects (leader Jeff Kelly released his ninth solo album, For The Swan in the Hallway last July, Kelly and fellow guitarist Laura Weller are in the eclectic, wyrdfolk duo Goblin Market, and keyboardist Eric Lichter released his debut solo effort, Palm Wine Sunday Blue in 2002). The recent departure of longtime drummer Karl Wilhelm (who, besides Kelly has spent more time in the lineup than any other member, including co-founding bassist, Joe Ross) also contributes to the band’s current state of flux. [The drumkit on these recordings was manned by Seattle DJ, Scott Vanderpool, who, along with Weller (she’s also his wife) and Ross were briefly in the Seattle pop combo Capping Day, whose “Holden Caulfield” gets a rudimentary run through here.]

The loose sense of immediacy that the live setting offers benefits the band (who’ve always been a tight-nit live project) considerably. Kelly’s stident, aggressive soloing on opener “The Cruel Night” (which, along with “Lost Girls Song” originally appeared on Northern Gothic) and the slow, sexy blues of “If You Love Me (You’ll Do It”) demonstrate why he’s one of the most underrated guitarists in America.

The mildly psychedelic “Gazelle” illustrates why the band have occasionally been heralded as the second coming of The Byrds and the short, punchy “Blue Eyes To Haunt Me,” the newest song in the set, illustrates the band haven’t lost a step in their old age (most are at or pushing 40).

Kelly also delivers one of his best love songs on the album’s 11½-minute centerpiece, the slow, swaying, heartwrenching “For S,” (longtime fans will recognize the reference to his wife, Susanne), which also features his yearning, Hammond organ backing. Kelly wrote this about the song: “Some parts of this song originate from when I was a teenager in the ‘70s and it was nice to update and finally record some words and a melody that have lived only in my in my mind for 30 years! (By the way- in this song I say ‘I mark them with a white stone.’ Admirers of Lewis Carroll might recognize the reference, for he ‘marked’ his diary with ‘a white stone’ after a particularly good day with his muse- Alice Liddell.)” Hence the title of the album!

7 Fathoms Down and Falling’s “She’s Still Bewitching Me” (recently covered to good effect on Mary Lou Lord’s Live City Sounds collection) gets a sedate, somber, laidback rearrangement here, which turns its original spot-on Byrds-y vibe into a foky lament, and the original meaning of “she’s still enthralling me” can almost be reinterpreted as “she’s still stalking me.”

While not in the same league as their early Camera Obscura masterpieces (which were more focused and, consequently, preferable to the looser, harsher Woronzow releases), Ten White Stones is still recommended as a companion piece to the band’s recently released live collection Lust Never Sleeps (on Joe’s Endgame imprint) as a fitting document of the current live Green Pajamas, which Kelly claims “is a better band than ever.”

Urdog - Garden of Bones (Secret Eye)