Lenny Kravitz, Let Love Rule

This was not the first Lenny Kravitz album I bought. For much of high school, when I veered towards pop and folk songs, Lenny Kravitz seemed like someone whose music I wouldn't like. He seemed almost metal — 'dreds flying everywhere, a severe looking electric guitar. I was wrong, of course. I might have become enamored by his music during the VH1 Behind the Music about him, but I may be mistaken.

In any event, I like Lenny Kravitz. He has a good ear for melody, and is one of those rare artists who can make his rocking songs sound just as good as his slower stuff.

Let Love Rule, his first album, is not him in his prime. I do love the title track, but some of the other songs don't have the hooks that others do. Sometimes on this album, he reminds me of the novice jazz improviser who plays a measure that he really likes during a solo and then just plays that measure over and over again because he knows it sounds good. But then it starts sounding boring and repetitive, and he's got nothing else to save him.

Strangefolk, Lore

In college, I went with a friend to see a show that featured Percy Hill and Strangefolk; I was a big, huge Percy Hill fan, and my friend was a big, huge Strangefolk fan. Both were local acts from New Hampshire and Vermont, respectively. I remember thinking, even at that show, that Percy Hill's musicianship and innovation far outdistanced Strangefolk's. Strangefolk's chief advantage was that they could rock fairly effectively. Percy Hill felt like it had been formed by a group of music majors; Strangefolk seemed to have emerged from someone's parents' garage or basement.

Their album gives me the same vibe. The first few tracks could passably be included on an indie version of Guitar Hero. The music feels strong, if not particularly inspired. (I just checked their website; apparently, they're still around, though with only two of the original members. Percy Hill went through a similar membership metamorphosis, though I think they've wisely allowed themselves to trail off.) Some of the last few songs on this album are real clunkers, though. And by 'the last few,' I mean the last two-thirds of the tracks. Check out this lyric from "Alaska," which pissed me off in particular: "When Jimmy Carter made the National Arctic Refuge / he could see the heart of the world in an eagle's eye." Stuff like this is so inelegant and it rings so false. I could see a band like the Indigo Girls pulling something like this off because they're overtly political. But Strangefolk seemed to brand themselves as simpleton hippie rockers. Listen to Dr. Dog's song "Alaska" to see how much better a song about the far north can be.

Teenage Fanclub, Songs from Northern Britain

Teenage Fanclub sounds like a foreign version of The Jayhawks — lots of strummin', country-influenced guitars, with sleek and confident vocal harmonies.

I can't say that any of the individual songs stuck with me in particular, though. Probably more my fault than theirs, but there wasn't anything that would make me come across this CD and say, "Oh, I haven't heard this song in a while." Which is probably not really the point w/r/t this project of listening to albums, but, well, tough.

The Beach Boys, Pet Sounds

Well, this album definitely sounds like the Beach Boys. Could they sound any other way? Listening to this, I imagined how much it must have sucked to have been the baritone Beach Boy. The answer is clear: quite a bit.

There's a lot to love here - I love the very end of "You Still Believe in Me." "Sloop John B" is also pretty timeless. The instrumentation and arranging throughout is inventive and kind of magical.

Here's what's terrible: after the 14th track, my CD of Pet Sounds featured alternate takes...of every song I'd just heard. I hate this. I hate it. If you're going to put an alternate track of a song on your album, it should be substantially different than the primary version. Maybe you include children yodeling. Maybe the whole song sounds awesome executed backwards or on timpani. These tracks were not that different, so there was no point to enduring 14 more tracks of the same songs.

I also don't think that the Beach Boys sound very Californian or Floridian. They sound like music you'd have heard on the Cape. If popped collars could make music, it would be this. That's not all bad, of course, but it can feel a little precious sometimes.

Hootie & the Blowfish, Cracked Rear View

America was in a giant, collective fraternity in 1995, because we all loved Hootie & the Blowfish. God, we were such terrible people.

It was a nice story - four nice guys (three nice white guys fronted by one nice black guy) who met at college and played simple songs that sounded like rock but were more like pop (Pop Rocks!).

I went to a Hootie & the Blowfish concert at some ski resort in Vermont when I was in high school. An even more awful band named Dillon Fence opened for them. After one of their songs, when the impatient crowd booed them, I believe their lead singer said, "Fuck you! Fuck you very much!"

When Hootie & the Blowfish performed, they played every song almost exactly as they had recorded it, which I remember thinking was disappointing, which it was, because when a band can barely even trust their members to perform adequate solos, it's not much of a band.

Here's the thing: I like the album. There are several shamefully catchy songs. It's weird that at least three of them seem to be about Darius Rucker's mother's death, because the rest of the album - and Hootie & the Blowfish in general - did not convey much of a mourning vibe. But man, some of these other songs - 'Hold My Hand,' 'Running From an Angel' - are like high school anthems. Put some of these in a mix with, like, 'Lightning Crashes,' and there's a whole swath of the population that will sway and cry and, if drunk, blubber the lyrics in this intense, too-loud sort of way.

The Divine Comedy, A Secret History

The good songs on this best-of compilation are pretty great. They feature great orchestration, cheeky lyrics, and a general wall of sound. See 'National Express,' or 'Your Daddy's Car.'

The worst songs on this album are pretty insufferable. Neil Hannon's voice walks a thin line between soaringly endearing and lounge-singer-y. See most of the rest of the album, unfortunately. Especially unfortunate since this is a best-of.

He might want to leave this genre to the more reliable XTC.

Lauryn Hill, Unplugged

This album makes me angry.

I thought about just leaving it at that, but I guess I'll elaborate a little. The Lauryn Hill that appears on this album is wimpy. She makes excuses for her lack of preparation, talks too much about 'reality,' and sounds pretty much the same on every song. She complains that she hadn't been allowed to be real before. Really? How about when she sang that song about her son Zion on The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill? Does she count that as selling out? Or how about when she came across as powerful and independent - was that problematic?

To not warm up, to not memorize the words to your songs, and then to inform the audience that you didn't do those things because you wanted to be real - that's terrible. Real people prepare. Real people dress up for their performances. Great artists are real people.

The affirmation she receives for her bogusness from the audience is almost too much to take.

And on it goes, for two discs. Man up, Lauryn Hill! Make awesome records again!