Monday, February 1, 1999
Sound bites
MUSIC:
Various Artists, "Songs for the Brokenhearted" (Glue
Factory)
So the cheating rat-bastard dumped you, or the girl of your
dreams decided to dream elsewhere. Or even worse – you were both
too frightened by your emotions to ever make a move.
In any case, you’re bitter, sad and disillusioned with the
notion of love. It’s all just a tired sham anyway, as anyone can
tell you. How do you deal? Pop in Glue Factory’s compilation,
"Songs for the Brokenhearted." After all, what’s the use of being
miserable on your own when you can commiserate with the talents of
various, unheard-of bands, too small to be made up of anyone but
rinky-dink, angst-filled losers used to suffering?
Though much of the work fails in a sea of nasal droning, a few
highlights make it difficult to do anything but play the album once
more and get whiny all over again. The first (and best) song,
Oneline Drawing’s "Pollyanna," has a tender, sweet melody that
reminds pathetic listeners why it sucks when those heartless lovers
wreck you. If you don’t feel low enough already before you throw
the disc on, this one will guarantee you tumble into your own pit
of self-induced sorrow. "Show off my bruises and smile/ I am my own
TV show," weeps Jonah Sonz Matranga, the lead singer, in a
cracking, soft voice like his soul has just been whipped in a
Snoopy snow-cone machine.
This tragic display of emotion leads into Metroshifter’s "Theme
from Songs for the Brokenhearted," a slightly more upbeat, yet
still disgruntling, tune. It leaves listeners moaning, "You’re just
a girl to me," as though that could be true, as though it’s not
just something the lead singer’s telling himself like a cheap
mantra picked up at the five and dime from a self-help book for
hopeless loners.
After a while, the whole album spins into a mess of
indistinguishable tunes that just rip away on staticy chords and
strident, forgettable vocals. The complete work, though not worth
full price, would no doubt be one to check out the bargain bins
for.
Vanessa VanderZanden
Rating : 5
Nevada Bachelors, "Carrots and so on" (Pop Llama)
Wake up and smell the TV dinner. Yum yum. Though it ain’t no
Ralph’s Freshfare deli stroll, it does satiate that hunger for
something meaty. It fills you up just enough so that, well, you
could see devouring it again, when the craving for low-grade
nourishment kicks in and you burn out on high-brow snacks.
The rhythms roll around spunkily enough, but they don’t go
anywhere. It’s like being told how to operate an electric hoe
without being able to go out in the backyard and rev it up for
yourself.
Basically, the more you listen to the lead singer’s
Barry-Manilow-a-la-twist-of-Robert-Plant-cocktail voice, squealing
raucously about "Spanish experiments" and "living like leopards,"
the more you want to shove a bratwurst down his vocal chords. The
songs, however, could never be called unenthusiastic, and there is
something to be said for a band which boasts back-up yappings from
two out of the three remaining members.
Still, each track moves like a series of tight waves, up and
down, up and down. Like you’re riding a loud, energy-sapping,
repetitive crest that won’t break and won’t gather momentum. It
just keeps sending you sideways until you finally jump off toward
shore out of brute frustration.
At the very least you get to coast. But most of us want
something a little bit more jarring than an unmemorable dance with
salt water.
Vanessa VanderZanden
Rating : 4
Various Artists, "Down in the Delta (Original Soundtrack)"
Virgin
Far too frequently, soundtracks have become bloated marketing
vehicles for labels to foist off second-rate material by top-name
artists in an attempt to make a fast buck. Occasionally, you can
find a few gems here and there, but by and large the chaff far
outweighs the wheat.
"Down in the Delta" is kind of a mixed bag. The album offers 16
tracks of light R&B, so if playing it low-key’s your bag of
tricks, you should be amply satisfied. There’s a bit of gospel, a
touch of soul and a whole lot of Babyface-esque crooning that has
been the staple of high school proms for years. Listen to the
Leverts chime in on "Where Would I Be" and you’ll find yourself
sent back to the days of rented tuxedos and midnight embraces. Then
again, if you have bad prom memories, you’ll want to turn and run
the other way, because there’s a whole lot like it on the
album.
Although the music can be slightly repetitive at times, there’s
at least a score of talented singers who are making it. Luther
Vandross, Bob James and the sultry jazz chanteuse Cassandra Wilson
join forces for "I’m Only Human" and pull it off pretty well.
Wilson is under-utilized, but James and Vandross croon nicely.
Jazzyfatnastees and the Roots offer something a bit different
with "Let It Go," an unsettling bit of more substantial pop with an
ominous Rhodes line underscoring simmering vocals.
Of course, there’s got to be a token really good song, and that
comes in the form of "My Soul Don’t Dream," an unusual pairing of
Me’Shell N’Degeocello and Keb’ Mo’. With N’Degeocello’s throbbing
bassline and Mo’s steel guitar screaming the blues, "My Soul Don’t
Dream" growls out emotion in a way the rest of the album can only
hope for. Unfortunately, the feeling doesn’t last long.
Brent Hopkins
Rating: 4
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