Melanie C, Northern Star

This was on in my car when I was giving my mother a ride back to the hotel where she was staying, and she asked, "Is this The Story?" referring to a band I liked in high school (and, okay, much of college).

A few days later, when the CD was still on in my car, my wife asked me what we were listening to, and I tried to make the case that it was better than one might expect, and she gave me just this withering look, as though I had no sense.

And, as is often the case, I realized that she was kind of right. The reason my mother couldn't tell what we were listening to (other than her not knowing former Spice Girls by name) was because this album sounds like every bland girl-power effort. En Vogue chose a similar route - doing a Rock Song and a Ballad or two and a Dance Number, etc. - but they did it much better. Mel C does not have the pipes to really make this worth it.

Which is too bad, because she was kind of my favorite Spice Girl. Truth be told, I don't mind much of this album - the first song, "Go!," is especially not-bad - but it's just not good enough to leapfrog worthier (and more talented musicians).

Someone Still Loves You Boris Yeltsin, Broom

I remember a friend saying that he was not a fan of Little Miss Sunshine because it obeyed every indie movie stereotype: the grandfather who swears! the little pageant girl who's homely! and so on! I think I liked it maybe because of the comfort of the familiar patter. Maybe I'm a lesser person for it.

But no one will make me think I'm a lesser person for liking this band, never mind this album. They probably fit into the indie music box quite snugly - just some crazy kids from Missouri! odd pop culture reference in its cumbersome name! But you know what? They embraced the cliche and they did it perfectly. There are some really effective hooks here, and some well-constructed music. The lyrics don't try too hard, and the band doesn't sound like they all wear skinny jeans. They sound earnest - like they actually meant to make an indie album instead of making an album that sounded like an indie album, a meta-indie album that would strain street credibility. Only one track - I forget which one - sort of loses its way, and the spaces before and after some songs can be a little jarring, but you can take the first two tunes and match them up against anything on any disc I own, and they would probably come out ahead.

Wilco, Sky Blue Sky

This album is extremely good. It doesn't have the unfettered emotion of some previous Wilco albums - Tweedy's angry guitar on A Ghost is Born, the whirring, mechanical intensity of Yankee Hotel Foxtrot - but it's still pretty fantastic. Sky Blue Sky is warm; it's the first apartment after college that finally starts feeling grown up - a real bed instead of a futon, a fridge of bottles instead of cans. There are some wistful feelings about moving on, getting older, but there's plenty of joy in the satisfaction and comfort that a return to structure can bring.

While there are standout songs - "Either Way," "Hate It Here," "Shake It Off," "Impossible Germany," - this album impresses in being able to stay within a fairly narrow range and remain vibrant throughout. There's a consistent, pervasive sound, but it doesn't weigh Sky Blue Sky down. Rather, everything takes flight - not as in fireworks, but as in migrating birds. It is, if not spectacular, then regular and good and homey.

Steve Reich, Early Works

While I don't know if this will actually end up ranked that high on my list, just because the probability of repeat listening is low.  But without much doubt, this album is one of the most interesting that I own.  

Steve Reich is a minimalist composer who I started listening to because, way back when I was in pre-school, I was buddies with his son, Ezra.  Steve's wife used to take us to see movies or filmstrips at the public library in Woodstock.  My parents hung out with them; I can safely say that my parents have never had any other friends with as interesting a profession as 'minimalist composer.'  Well, no - I can think of two: one of my dad's colleagues was a law professor and a nationally-ranked Scrabble player; one of my dad's childhood friends served in the army, then in the Peace Corps, then built log cabins, and is now a nurse.

But I digress.

There's space inside each of the pieces on this album to hear new things and to think about what you're hearing, and I really like that.

In minimalism, you can pretty much hear the beginning of everything.  Three of the pieces rely on tape loops - the first, his most famous, is called "Come Out," and features two audio clips of a boy accused of murder during the 1964 Harlem riots.  One clip is slightly slower than the other; both are looped - after a while, they go out of synch, and then you start hearing things: different emphases, new words, new rhythms, new sounds.  It is a crazy experience.  

But, as minimalism can do, it gets repetitive.  I don't wish the album to be any different - the songs aren't supposed to have a pop hook or anything, and if they were constructed like that, Steve Reich would be competing with the likes of John Tesh and Yanni instead of with John Adams and Philip Glass - but it's not something you can hear over and over again because it loses its impact the third or eighth time through.  

Still, it's like the Wizard of Oz/Dark Side of the Moon experience of a few weeks ago: something everyone should try at least once, and then again every so often just to make sure their head's still working.

Stevie Wonder, Talking Book

It's odd that this album finishes stronger than it starts.  Usually, the trend is the opposite.  Then again, Stevie Wonder could pretty much do whatever he wanted during that spell of his career.  This portion of Wonder's career is the equivalent of Pedro Martinez in 1999 of Picasso during his Blue Period.  He was at the height of his game.

I actually don't think Talking Book is his best work.  Like I said, the beginning is weak — probably not his fault, but "You Are the Sunshine of My Life" has long been in the cliché gutter.  ("Superstition" is getting there, too.)  But I love exactly half the songs here: "Tuesday Heartbreak," "Big Brother," "Blame It On the Sun," "Lookin' for Another Pure Love," and "I Believe."  

I'll have more to say about good ol' Stevie when I listen to his other (better) albums, but this one is certainly not without its merits.  He manages to combine the depth of Marvin Gaye with the pop of the Jackson 5.  

Carole King, Tapestry

If Rick Rubin had produced a Motown record, this is what it would have sounded like.

En Vogue, Funky Divas

It wasn't that I'd forgotten this album; it's that I'd forgotten that I like this album.  For a group that was essentially and entirely a constructed marketing concept, En Vogue is no Spice Girls — they're much better than their UK counterparts.  I say that as an admirer of the magnificent gimmickry that was the Spice Girls; En Vogue excels as a group of talented musicians.  

The best songs are really good: "This is Your Life," "Never Gonna Get It," "Free Your Mind," Giving Him Something He Can Feel," and "Give It Up, Turn It Loose."

Unfortunately, not only are the bad songs bad, it's palpable that En Vogue knew it, too.  They sound weirdly shaky on the misses — "Hip Hop Lover," "Desire," "Hooked On Your Love," etc. — lacking the confidence that must come with being true divas.  

This album represents the peak of their talents and success; I enjoy that it takes risks and breaks the mold of a stereotypical girl band — even if those risks were taken by a corporate songwriter, breaking the mold of stereotypes he helped create.