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Ryan Adams – Love Is Hell Pt 1

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Adams' career is fast becoming a blizzard of lost possibilities and abandoned trails, with his 'proper' album releases, such as Gold and Rock'n'Roll, punctuated by closet-clearing collections of outtakes like Demolition and now Love Is Hell Pt 1, the first instalment of the album supposedly deemed too much of a downer to be the 'proper' follow-up to Gold. You can see why: even judged alongside such unflinching melancholia as Lou Reed's Berlin and David Ackles' first album, Love Is Hell Pt 1 is a tough listen, an utterly gloomungous affair with barely a crack of light piercing the lowering clouds of misery. Even the cover of "Wonderwall" is rendered depressing, with the original's plaintive quality replaced here by a wretched, downcast tone bordering on despair. The romantic cataclysm which presumably inspired these songs is allegorised variously as Titanic-style naval disaster ("Afraid Not Scared"), drug comedown ("World War 24") and ghost-ridden empty house ("This House is Not For Sale"), while elsewhere the devastated protagonist pores over old photos and listens vainly for her car in the driveway ("Avalanche"), and spreads his misery around a party ("Love Is Hell"). Musically, the album's marked by glum piano chords and enervated acoustic guitar parts, with Adams' vocals shattered and lifeless?except for the melodramatic "Afraid Not Scared", where he seems to be attempting an ill-judged imitation of Starsailor. The most engaging piece by far is the bonus track "Halloween", which ends the album on a positive note completely out of kilter with the preceding misery. As Dylan demonstrated with Blood On The Tracks, it's entirely possible to transmute personal pain into art and have the results be both enjoyable and life-affirming. But this is no Blood On The Tracks.

Adams’ career is fast becoming a blizzard of lost possibilities and abandoned trails, with his ‘proper’ album releases, such as Gold and Rock’n’Roll, punctuated by closet-clearing collections of outtakes like Demolition and now Love Is Hell Pt 1, the first instalment of the album supposedly deemed too much of a downer to be the ‘proper’ follow-up to Gold. You can see why: even judged alongside such unflinching melancholia as Lou Reed’s Berlin and David Ackles’ first album, Love Is Hell Pt 1 is a tough listen, an utterly gloomungous affair with barely a crack of light piercing the lowering clouds of misery. Even the cover of “Wonderwall” is rendered depressing, with the original’s plaintive quality replaced here by a wretched, downcast tone bordering on despair. The romantic cataclysm which presumably inspired these songs is allegorised variously as Titanic-style naval disaster (“Afraid Not Scared”), drug comedown (“World War 24”) and ghost-ridden empty house (“This House is Not For Sale”), while elsewhere the devastated protagonist pores over old photos and listens vainly for her car in the driveway (“Avalanche”), and spreads his misery around a party (“Love Is Hell”).

Musically, the album’s marked by glum piano chords and enervated acoustic guitar parts, with Adams’ vocals shattered and lifeless?except for the melodramatic “Afraid Not Scared”, where he seems to be attempting an ill-judged imitation of Starsailor. The most engaging piece by far is the bonus track “Halloween”, which ends the album on a positive note completely out of kilter with the preceding misery.

As Dylan demonstrated with Blood On The Tracks, it’s entirely possible to transmute personal pain into art and have the results be both enjoyable and life-affirming. But this is no Blood On The Tracks.

Mint Source

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The difference between Burch and most of his Nashville neighbours is pretty simple. "To others," he tells Uncut, "making music is simply work. To me, it's a matter of life and death." Fitting, then, that Fool For Love?his fifth album?is the album of his life. Deceptively easy on the ear, he's cut back on instrumental clutter to create the intimate mood of a perpetually moonstruck gypsy, clip-clopping to the classic rhythm of American country and rock'n'roll. Part-Everlys, part-Orbison, Burch wears these wonderful songs like a second hide, slipping effortlessly into honky-tonk, old-time swing and lonesome folk. The sort of record you wish more people made, rather than the lone stoking of a dying art. But then again, to sound this simple?this wise?is anything but straightforward. Since fetching up in Nashville via Indiana in the early '90s, Burch has daubed fresh colour onto a rapidly greying honky-tonk scene, forming the WPA Ballclub with steel guitarist Paul Niehaus (also a Lambchop card-carrier) and stealing the attentions of Chet Atkins, Cowboy Jack Clement and the late Bill Monroe, alongside guest spots on LPs by Vic Chesnutt, Josh Rouse and The Pine Valley Cosmonauts. And it's this easy straddling of the traditional and new that makes him unique. More Gene Autry than Woody Guthrie, Burch's voice is pitch-perfect for gunslinger balladry, while the spare arrangements (exquisitely realised by various WPA backers) are firmly rooted in the now. Opener "Lovesick Blues Boy" could be Marty Robbins pining over a gentle horsebeat canter. The stunning "Time To Cry" is a dollop of Roy Orbison over warm acoustic guitar. "Sparks Fly Out" is country-skiffle, Burch's overdubbed harmonies sweet as primetime Don'n'Phil. Elsewhere, the Hawaiian steel strum of classic doughboy swinger, "If You're Gonna Love Me", is offset by the softly spartan "Deserted Love" and "Like Railroad Steel", in which Burch keens and flexes his voice like a wind-ruffled willow.

The difference between Burch and most of his Nashville neighbours is pretty simple. “To others,” he tells Uncut, “making music is simply work. To me, it’s a matter of life and death.” Fitting, then, that Fool For Love?his fifth album?is the album of his life. Deceptively easy on the ear, he’s cut back on instrumental clutter to create the intimate mood of a perpetually moonstruck gypsy, clip-clopping to the classic rhythm of American country and rock’n’roll. Part-Everlys, part-Orbison, Burch wears these wonderful songs like a second hide, slipping effortlessly into honky-tonk, old-time swing and lonesome folk. The sort of record you wish more people made, rather than the lone stoking of a dying art. But then again, to sound this simple?this wise?is anything but straightforward. Since fetching up in Nashville via Indiana in the early ’90s, Burch has daubed fresh colour onto a rapidly greying honky-tonk scene, forming the WPA Ballclub with steel guitarist Paul Niehaus (also a Lambchop card-carrier) and stealing the attentions of Chet Atkins, Cowboy Jack Clement and the late Bill Monroe, alongside guest spots on LPs by Vic Chesnutt, Josh Rouse and The Pine Valley Cosmonauts. And it’s this easy straddling of the traditional and new that makes him unique. More Gene Autry than Woody Guthrie, Burch’s voice is pitch-perfect for gunslinger balladry, while the spare arrangements (exquisitely realised by various WPA backers) are firmly rooted in the now.

Opener “Lovesick Blues Boy” could be Marty Robbins pining over a gentle horsebeat canter. The stunning “Time To Cry” is a dollop of Roy Orbison over warm acoustic guitar. “Sparks Fly Out” is country-skiffle, Burch’s overdubbed harmonies sweet as primetime Don’n’Phil. Elsewhere, the Hawaiian steel strum of classic doughboy swinger, “If You’re Gonna Love Me”, is offset by the softly spartan “Deserted Love” and “Like Railroad Steel”, in which Burch keens and flexes his voice like a wind-ruffled willow.

Erykah Badu – Worldwide Underground

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Though it features 12 tracks and lasts an hour, Badu's latest comes billed as an EP, presumably by a label unwilling to market this as a priority release. Her honeyed brand of soul has always focused more on grooves than tunes, and here she does away with the latter almost entirely. "Bump It" and "I Want You" are horizontal synth-funk jams, with an enchantingly drowsy Badu scatting over the top. Even the presence of militant rappers Dead Prez on "The Grind" can't upset the languorous atmosphere. Frequently intoxicating.

Though it features 12 tracks and lasts an hour, Badu’s latest comes billed as an EP, presumably by a label unwilling to market this as a priority release. Her honeyed brand of soul has always focused more on grooves than tunes, and here she does away with the latter almost entirely. “Bump It” and “I Want You” are horizontal synth-funk jams, with an enchantingly drowsy Badu scatting over the top. Even the presence of militant rappers Dead Prez on “The Grind” can’t upset the languorous atmosphere. Frequently intoxicating.

Two Lone Swordsmen – Peppered With Spastic Magic

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It could have been so different. Back in 1988, Weatherall and Paul Oakenfold were at the cutting edge, dancing like loons in fields to Italian piano riffs and speeded-up Soul II Soul beats. Paths diverged, and now Oakenfold whores himself out to any mug stupid enough to pay...

It could have been so different. Back in 1988, Weatherall and Paul Oakenfold were at the cutting edge, dancing like loons in fields to Italian piano riffs and speeded-up Soul II Soul beats. Paths diverged, and now Oakenfold whores himself out to any mug stupid enough to pay

Lydia Lunch & Terry Edwards – Memory And Madness

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"We are going to be talking about my war, the battle of sex as an animal act fucked up by my emotions":brutal words of female wisdom from Lydia Lunch. This collaboration with British hornman Terry Edwards turns Lunch's unflinching gaze on the politics of personal relationships. Recorded live at the Fierce Spoken Word festival in Birmingham earlier this year, the radical blend of Lunch's evocative poetry with Edwards' sinuous avant-garde jazz makes for shocking, disturbing and delightful listening.

“We are going to be talking about my war, the battle of sex as an animal act fucked up by my emotions”:brutal words of female wisdom from Lydia Lunch. This collaboration with British hornman Terry Edwards turns Lunch’s unflinching gaze on the politics of personal relationships. Recorded live at the Fierce Spoken Word festival in Birmingham earlier this year, the radical blend of Lunch’s evocative poetry with Edwards’ sinuous avant-garde jazz makes for shocking, disturbing and delightful listening.

Damon Albarn – Demo Crazy

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Last summer while on tour with Blur, a wasted-sounding Damon Albarn recorded a bunch of improvised song ideas on a four-track in hotel rooms across America. Now he's released them in a limited edition of 5000 vinyl copies. On first hearing the results are shocking, even embarrassing. The 14 tracks are several notches below even demo stage. These are mere pre-song fragments, using a badly tuned acoustic guitar and instrumentation Albarn might have borrowed from his daughter's playroom?melodica, harmonium, paper-and-comb. The lyrics aren't so much diary jottings as observations ("I was at the Niagara Falls today, and they really didn't make me want to jump in"). On "Five Star Life", it sounds like he's recorded his doorbell. On the closer, "End Of Demo Crazy", you hear someone using the bathroom. Yet listen closely and you hear how these less-than-half-formed ideas could easily become mature songs, for within them are snatches of great tunes and inventive rhythms bursting with imagination. Every great Blur song must have started life in similarly inchoate form; what Albarn is offering us is a rare and fascinating glimpse into the raw stuff of the creative process. Audacious or indulgent? Take your pick. But few artists of similar stature have ever exposed themselves quite so nakedly. And for that Albarn should be applauded.

Last summer while on tour with Blur, a wasted-sounding Damon Albarn recorded a bunch of improvised song ideas on a four-track in hotel rooms across America. Now he’s released them in a limited edition of 5000 vinyl copies. On first hearing the results are shocking, even embarrassing. The 14 tracks are several notches below even demo stage. These are mere pre-song fragments, using a badly tuned acoustic guitar and instrumentation Albarn might have borrowed from his daughter’s playroom?melodica, harmonium, paper-and-comb. The lyrics aren’t so much diary jottings as observations (“I was at the Niagara Falls today, and they really didn’t make me want to jump in”). On “Five Star Life”, it sounds like he’s recorded his doorbell. On the closer, “End Of Demo Crazy”, you hear someone using the bathroom. Yet listen closely and you hear how these less-than-half-formed ideas could easily become mature songs, for within them are snatches of great tunes and inventive rhythms bursting with imagination. Every great Blur song must have started life in similarly inchoate form; what Albarn is offering us is a rare and fascinating glimpse into the raw stuff of the creative process. Audacious or indulgent? Take your pick. But few artists of similar stature have ever exposed themselves quite so nakedly. And for that Albarn should be applauded.

Greek Choruses

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Ordinarily, the simultaneous release of a two-CD concept album and another double album of blues and soul covers would point to a severely over-reaching ego. For Diamanda Gal...

Ordinarily, the simultaneous release of a two-CD concept album and another double album of blues and soul covers would point to a severely over-reaching ego. For Diamanda Gal

Maher Shalal Hash Baz – Blues Du Jour

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Shambling indie pop may be rather pass...

Shambling indie pop may be rather pass

Cas McCombs – Not The Way

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Brooklyn singer-songwriter Cass McCombs purveys an affecting lo-fi Americana that has seen him compared to Will "Bonnie 'Prince' Billy" Oldham. Which is unsurprising?McCombs keeps his sound basic, his vocal thin and earnest, and gives his music a certain archaic flavour. Yet where Oldham's music sounds like it exists only to make sense of the singer's private universe, McCombs' is a warmer, more open muse. Indeed, The Basement Tapes, Kiwi indie kids The Chills and The Clean are better reference points. The songs creak along, McCombs and band often sounding like they're about to fall over (no surprises, then, that the most affecting tune is "Opium Flower"), and it's all strangely engaging. Six tracks in 25 minutes?a truly minimalist debut.

Brooklyn singer-songwriter Cass McCombs purveys an affecting lo-fi Americana that has seen him compared to Will “Bonnie ‘Prince’ Billy” Oldham. Which is unsurprising?McCombs keeps his sound basic, his vocal thin and earnest, and gives his music a certain archaic flavour. Yet where Oldham’s music sounds like it exists only to make sense of the singer’s private universe, McCombs’ is a warmer, more open muse. Indeed, The Basement Tapes, Kiwi indie kids The Chills and The Clean are better reference points. The songs creak along, McCombs and band often sounding like they’re about to fall over (no surprises, then, that the most affecting tune is “Opium Flower”), and it’s all strangely engaging. Six tracks in 25 minutes?a truly minimalist debut.

Billy Bob Thornton – The Edge Of The World

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Thornton's dark-hued Private Radio from 2001 drew comparisons with Cash and Cohen, but this follow-up seems more influenced by a British singer-songwriter?unfortunately, it's David Brent, in the episode where the manager of The Office produced a guitar to grunt sincerely about "purdy gurls on the ho...

Thornton’s dark-hued Private Radio from 2001 drew comparisons with Cash and Cohen, but this follow-up seems more influenced by a British singer-songwriter?unfortunately, it’s David Brent, in the episode where the manager of The Office produced a guitar to grunt sincerely about “purdy gurls on the hooduvva Cadillac.” Thornton mostly ditches the low-key sound of his debut for MOR, delivering clich

Cara Dillon – Sweet Liberty

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Following her surprisingly well-received eponymous debut from 2002, Cara Dillon repeats the formula, mixing traditional songs and her own collaborations with producer/pianist Seth Lakeman. Dillon has a wonderfully pure voice, but it lacks the depth and maturity to rise above the more elaborate arrangements and flirtations with modernity. She's seemingly more at ease on the traditional material, her voice confidently filling in the shadowy instrumental spaces, notably on "The Winding River Roe", a desperate lament, or daring to emulate Anne Briggs on the Sweeney's Men classic "Standing On The Shore". Cast adrift from her roots, though, she veers unconvincingly between Kate Bush and Dolly Parton?far less entrancing.

Following her surprisingly well-received eponymous debut from 2002, Cara Dillon repeats the formula, mixing traditional songs and her own collaborations with producer/pianist Seth Lakeman. Dillon has a wonderfully pure voice, but it lacks the depth and maturity to rise above the more elaborate arrangements and flirtations with modernity. She’s seemingly more at ease on the traditional material, her voice confidently filling in the shadowy instrumental spaces, notably on “The Winding River Roe”, a desperate lament, or daring to emulate Anne Briggs on the Sweeney’s Men classic “Standing On The Shore”. Cast adrift from her roots, though, she veers unconvincingly between Kate Bush and Dolly Parton?far less entrancing.

The Gosdin Brothers – Sounds Of Goodbye

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By their first (and only) release in 1968, The Gosdins were semi-legendary on the California country circuit. A huge influence on Chris Hillman?all three were in pre-Byrds bluegrassers The Hillmen?they'd already featured on Younger Than Yesterday and cut one sublime album with Gene Clark. Sounds Of Goodbye features astonishing back-up from soon-to-be-Byrds Clarence White and Gene Parsons, but the Bros' grasp of gospel harmony and aching balladry is something else, even if some of the material is slight. Vern's voice, particularly, was as real as it got.

By their first (and only) release in 1968, The Gosdins were semi-legendary on the California country circuit. A huge influence on Chris Hillman?all three were in pre-Byrds bluegrassers The Hillmen?they’d already featured on Younger Than Yesterday and cut one sublime album with Gene Clark. Sounds Of Goodbye features astonishing back-up from soon-to-be-Byrds Clarence White and Gene Parsons, but the Bros’ grasp of gospel harmony and aching balladry is something else, even if some of the material is slight. Vern’s voice, particularly, was as real as it got.

Blurt – The Best Of Blurt Vol 1:The Fish Needs A Bike

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Those who remember the early '80s may still more vaguely remember poet Ted Milton, he of the shrieking vocals, absurdist song titles and extreme aversion to sideburns. His wailing saxophone wasn't unique back then?Lora Logic, James Chance, Clock DVA and Biting Tongues among others melded post-punk with free jazz to wildly expressive effect. Expectations that this collection might be an anomalous musical quirk are comprehensively dispelled here?Milton matches eloquent playing with angular guitar fury. Well worth rediscovering.

Those who remember the early ’80s may still more vaguely remember poet Ted Milton, he of the shrieking vocals, absurdist song titles and extreme aversion to sideburns. His wailing saxophone wasn’t unique back then?Lora Logic, James Chance, Clock DVA and Biting Tongues among others melded post-punk with free jazz to wildly expressive effect. Expectations that this collection might be an anomalous musical quirk are comprehensively dispelled here?Milton matches eloquent playing with angular guitar fury. Well worth rediscovering.

Steve Earle – Early Tracks

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After ditching young Earle from their roster in the mid-'80s, Epic subsequently rush-released this in 1987, in the wake of MCA breakthrough Guitar Town. Rounding up four-track debut EP Pink And Black ('82) alongside a clutch of 45s with the proto-Dukes, it's little more than straightahead roots rockabilly, albeit with a spunky twang. The 1984 B-side "Devil's Right Hand" (later revived for Copperhead Road) is pick of the bunch, but the Nashville gloss on "The Crush" and "A Little Bit In Love" will have you groping for the sick bag. The only way was up.

After ditching young Earle from their roster in the mid-’80s, Epic subsequently rush-released this in 1987, in the wake of MCA breakthrough Guitar Town. Rounding up four-track debut EP Pink And Black (’82) alongside a clutch of 45s with the proto-Dukes, it’s little more than straightahead roots rockabilly, albeit with a spunky twang. The 1984 B-side “Devil’s Right Hand” (later revived for Copperhead Road) is pick of the bunch, but the Nashville gloss on “The Crush” and “A Little Bit In Love” will have you groping for the sick bag. The only way was up.

Creedence Clearwater Revival – Bad Moon Rising: The Best Of

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Back around the cusp of the '70s, Creedence became America's most popular band. Full stop. With John Fogerty's uncanny ability to weld a country sensibility to an immediate rock'n'roll beat, the retro-in-motion quartet notched up 15 Top 20 hits yet kept their credibility as an albums act who could knock spots off anyone on stage. Bad Moon Rising is a no-nonsense summation of a career which mirrors CCR's plaid-and-denim image and still sounds agreeably rough around the edges. Standout numbers like the anti-'Nam "Fortunate Son", "Green River" and "Up Around The Bend" buzz with energy and commitment. A genuine Americana for the masses. And not a duffer in sight.

Back around the cusp of the ’70s, Creedence became America’s most popular band. Full stop. With John Fogerty’s uncanny ability to weld a country sensibility to an immediate rock’n’roll beat, the retro-in-motion quartet notched up 15 Top 20 hits yet kept their credibility as an albums act who could knock spots off anyone on stage. Bad Moon Rising is a no-nonsense summation of a career which mirrors CCR’s plaid-and-denim image and still sounds agreeably rough around the edges. Standout numbers like the anti-‘Nam “Fortunate Son”, “Green River” and “Up Around The Bend” buzz with energy and commitment.

A genuine Americana for the masses. And not a duffer in sight.

Various Artists – Under The Influence: Paul Weller

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Following those of Morrissey and Ian Brown, Weller's Under The Influence is more surprising than his detractors might expect. Dead certs like Townshend and Marriott are absent for starters, though not so the irresistible Ray Davies (The Kinks' grimly satirical "Big Black Smoke"). Often dismissed as a mod stalwart, if nothing else, this confirms Weller's eclectic ear for black music, from reggae (Big Youth) and soul (Marvin Gaye) to gospel and jazz (Coltrane and a particularly challenging Mingus jam).

Following those of Morrissey and Ian Brown, Weller’s Under The Influence is more surprising than his detractors might expect. Dead certs like Townshend and Marriott are absent for starters, though not so the irresistible Ray Davies (The Kinks’ grimly satirical “Big Black Smoke”).

Often dismissed as a mod stalwart, if nothing else, this confirms Weller’s eclectic ear for black music, from reggae (Big Youth) and soul (Marvin Gaye) to gospel and jazz (Coltrane and a particularly challenging Mingus jam).

Michael Jackson – Number Ones

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In the past 50 years, only Presley and Monroe have endured Jackson's level of iconic ubiquity. A gruesomely fascinating character, he reveals nothing of himself on record. There's plenty going on behind the scenes, but precious little makes it onto disc. You'd never guess from this collection that he's a sexual/racial polymorph with irrational urges who's spent 25 years going mad. It starts brilliantly. "Don't Stop Till You Get Enough" explodes with fey abandon. "Rock With You", Rod Temperton's finest hour, is an exquisite performance. But the music gets duller as Jackson gets weirder. Awesome in its cold perfection, "Billie Jean" is the transitional moment. Denial and self-control are the watchwords now. He might be pirouetting and moonwalking, but he's paralysed by fame. On "Beat It", black narcissus re-emerges as slick hoodlum (aka the "Smooth Criminal"), with his arsenal of vocal tics and body jerks. It's his last great hit. His LP titles offer increasingly unconvincing boasts. He's the Thriller! He's Bad! He's Dangerous! In 2001, enfeebled by scandal, he declares himself Invincible. The singles ring equally false. For the Sting-for-weenies that is "Earth Song" he's an eco-warrior. The asinine "Black Or White" recasts him as the Martin Luther King of rock-disco. On "The Way You Make Me Feel" he's a regular horny guy. "You Are Not Alone" and the new "One More Chance" peddle the oddest fiction: Jackson as lothario. R Kelly? He needs a sympathetic collaborator, not a hack on porn charges. Four landmark Number Ones, followed by 14 attempts to recapture their energy and honesty. Hardly Beatles 1, is it? The King Of Pop is royally fucked up. Wish he'd make a record acknowledging that.

In the past 50 years, only Presley and Monroe have endured Jackson’s level of iconic ubiquity. A gruesomely fascinating character, he reveals nothing of himself on record. There’s plenty going on behind the scenes, but precious little makes it onto disc. You’d never guess from this collection that he’s a sexual/racial polymorph with irrational urges who’s spent 25 years going mad.

It starts brilliantly. “Don’t Stop Till You Get Enough” explodes with fey abandon. “Rock With You”, Rod Temperton’s finest hour, is an exquisite performance. But the music gets duller as Jackson gets weirder.

Awesome in its cold perfection, “Billie Jean” is the transitional moment. Denial and self-control are the watchwords now. He might be pirouetting and moonwalking, but he’s paralysed by fame. On “Beat It”, black narcissus re-emerges as slick hoodlum (aka the “Smooth Criminal”), with his arsenal of vocal tics and body jerks. It’s his last great hit. His LP titles offer increasingly unconvincing boasts. He’s the Thriller! He’s Bad! He’s Dangerous! In 2001, enfeebled by scandal, he declares himself Invincible.

The singles ring equally false. For the Sting-for-weenies that is “Earth Song” he’s an eco-warrior. The asinine “Black Or White” recasts him as the Martin Luther King of rock-disco. On “The Way You Make Me Feel” he’s a regular horny guy. “You Are Not Alone” and the new “One More Chance” peddle the oddest fiction: Jackson as lothario. R Kelly? He needs a sympathetic collaborator, not a hack on porn charges.

Four landmark Number Ones, followed by 14 attempts to recapture their energy and honesty. Hardly Beatles 1, is it? The King Of Pop is royally fucked up. Wish he’d make a record acknowledging that.

Tori Amos – Tales Of A Librarian

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Tori Amos – Tales Of A Librarian

Drawing on her albums from 1992's Little Earthquakes to 1999's To Venus And Back, this collection tracks the numerous crests and vicissitudes of Tori Amos'singular singer songwriter career. She avoids the fatuous histrionics of an Alanis Morissette, the bland, beige warblings of a Dido and the entrapment of the celeb'n'chick brigade who dominate pop's 'post-feminist' era (satirised here on "Cornflake Girl"). Rather, Amos'career has been a means of purging her most traumatic experiences, including a rape and a miscarriage, as well as scourging the multiple forces of patriarchy, from religion to not one but two George Bushes. These tracks have been refurbished and now gleam with a 21st-century sheen. This is most conspicuous on "Precious Things", from Little Earthquakes, whose brittle strings, scar-like guitars and pianos scampering—as if down mental labyrinths—are more pronounced here. "Winter" and "Crucify" are present, too, their too-pretty strings belying the burgeoning rage of the songs—though on the bleak, concussed a cappella of "Me And A Gun"it's unmistakable. Under The Pink (1994) saw Amos loosen up musically and gain in self-confidence, as the almost comical squeaks and stresses of the sarcastically solicitous "God"indicate. On 1996's Boys For Pele she asserted her independence and myriad strengths further by engaging in a sort of musical dressing up, with the gospel chorus of "Way Down"and the volcanic, lustful eruption of the dance remix of "Professional Widow", Tori turning predator. However, 1998's From The Choirgirl Hotel was made under the cloud of a recent miscarriage and saw a return to a more open, vulnerable lyrical style on the self excoriating, honky tonk tinged "Playboy Mommy". Still, she shrouded her songs in a richer musical weave, and the more contented To Venus And Back, represented here by "Bliss", is bathed in the liquid metal of state of the art studio technology. On Tales Of A Librarian, Amos has chosen to classify the track listing non-chronologically according to the Dewey Decimal System. However, this does work, as songs are juxtaposed thematically—"Angels", one of two new compositions here, a bitter reflection on the recent Iraq war and the 'patriotic'quiescence that allowed it, is followed by 1992's "Silent All These Years", the song adopted by the Rape And National Incest Network. Then, as now, Amos touches raw nerves like no other singer songwriter.

Drawing on her albums from 1992’s Little Earthquakes to 1999’s To Venus And Back, this collection tracks the numerous crests and vicissitudes of Tori Amos’singular singer songwriter career. She avoids the fatuous histrionics of an Alanis Morissette, the bland, beige warblings of a Dido and the entrapment of the celeb’n’chick brigade who dominate pop’s ‘post-feminist’ era (satirised here on “Cornflake Girl”). Rather, Amos’career has been a means of purging her most traumatic experiences, including a rape and a miscarriage, as well as scourging the multiple forces of patriarchy, from religion to not one but two George Bushes. These tracks have been refurbished and now gleam with a 21st-century sheen.

This is most conspicuous on “Precious Things”, from Little Earthquakes, whose brittle strings, scar-like guitars and pianos scampering—as if down mental labyrinths—are more pronounced here. “Winter” and “Crucify” are present, too, their too-pretty strings belying the burgeoning rage of the songs—though on the bleak, concussed a cappella of “Me And A Gun”it’s unmistakable.

Under The Pink (1994) saw Amos loosen up musically and gain in self-confidence, as the almost comical squeaks and stresses of the sarcastically solicitous “God”indicate. On 1996’s Boys For Pele she asserted her independence and myriad strengths further by engaging in a sort of musical dressing up, with the gospel chorus of “Way Down”and the volcanic, lustful eruption of the dance remix of “Professional Widow”, Tori turning predator. However, 1998’s From The Choirgirl Hotel was made under the cloud of a recent miscarriage and saw a return to a more open, vulnerable lyrical style on the self excoriating, honky tonk tinged “Playboy Mommy”. Still, she shrouded her songs in a richer musical weave, and the more contented To Venus And Back, represented here by “Bliss”, is bathed in the liquid metal of state of the art studio technology.

On Tales Of A Librarian, Amos has chosen to classify the track listing non-chronologically according to the Dewey Decimal System. However, this does work, as songs are juxtaposed thematically—”Angels”, one of two new compositions here, a bitter reflection on the recent Iraq war and the ‘patriotic’quiescence that allowed it, is followed by 1992’s “Silent All These Years”, the song adopted by the Rape And National Incest Network. Then, as now, Amos touches raw nerves like no other singer songwriter.

Rock City

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This is an amazing find on a par with the recent Beale Street Green 'legit' bootleg of Big Star rarities and outtakes. Rock City were the band featuring singer-guitarist Christopher Bell and drummer Jody Stephens?one half of the legendary Memphis power-pop unit. And Rock City contains 11 of the songs they recorded during 1969-70 while Alex Chilton was recovering from his brush with teen idolatry courtesy of The Box Tops, plus one when they morphed into Icewater just before Chilton and bassist Andy Hummel joined. John Fry, who worked on #1 Record, Radio City and Third/Sister Lovers, engineered while Ardent boss Terry Manning played Moog and assorted period gizmos. Aside from a gorgeous piece of Zombies-style baroque art-balladry called "The Preacher", there are early versions of "My Life Is Right", written by Bell and Rock City frontman Terry Eubanks, and "Try Again", on which Alex sings backing vocals. "Lovely Lady" is "When My Baby's Beside Me" in all but name. And Icewater's prototype "Feel" (side one, track one of # 1 Record) sounds uncannily ahead of its time. All that and archive photos of Chris Bell. O my soul!

This is an amazing find on a par with the recent Beale Street Green ‘legit’ bootleg of Big Star rarities and outtakes. Rock City were the band featuring singer-guitarist Christopher Bell and drummer Jody Stephens?one half of the legendary Memphis power-pop unit. And Rock City contains 11 of the songs they recorded during 1969-70 while Alex Chilton was recovering from his brush with teen idolatry courtesy of The Box Tops, plus one when they morphed into Icewater just before Chilton and bassist Andy Hummel joined. John Fry, who worked on #1 Record, Radio City and Third/Sister Lovers, engineered while Ardent boss Terry Manning played Moog and assorted period gizmos. Aside from a gorgeous piece of Zombies-style baroque art-balladry called “The Preacher”, there are early versions of “My Life Is Right”, written by Bell and Rock City frontman Terry Eubanks, and “Try Again”, on which Alex sings backing vocals. “Lovely Lady” is “When My Baby’s Beside Me” in all but name. And Icewater’s prototype “Feel” (side one, track one of # 1 Record) sounds uncannily ahead of its time. All that and archive photos of Chris Bell. O my soul!

Various Artists – The Ultimate ’50s And ’60s Rockin’ Horror Disc

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Post-war America saw the horror and sci-fi genres reach their apex the age of Cold War hysteria and nuclear paranoia inspiring tales of invading aliens, gigantic mutations and technological terror. Raised on B-movies and comic books?a world inhabited by Martians and vampires?teenagers soon became the main market for a multitude of novelty rock'n'roll records released to exploit the trend. The selections included here go from the essential (Round Robin's Bo Diddleyesque "I'm The Wolfman" and The Swanks' electrifying "Ghost Train") to the absurd (Bert Convy's "Monster Hop") and the ridiculous (Tony Monstrosities' "Igor's Party"?too monstrous for words).

Post-war America saw the horror and sci-fi genres reach their apex the age of Cold War hysteria and nuclear paranoia inspiring tales of invading aliens, gigantic mutations and technological terror. Raised on B-movies and comic books?a world inhabited by Martians and vampires?teenagers soon became the main market for a multitude of novelty rock’n’roll records released to exploit the trend. The selections included here go from the essential (Round Robin’s Bo Diddleyesque “I’m The Wolfman” and The Swanks’ electrifying “Ghost Train”) to the absurd (Bert Convy’s “Monster Hop”) and the ridiculous (Tony Monstrosities’ “Igor’s Party”?too monstrous for words).

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