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!

The Beatles, Magical Mystery Tour

My parents had several Beatles albums on record when I was young, and I enjoyed playing them, often when I came downstairs for breakfast. I liked staring at the jackets of Revolver and Sgt. Pepper. And I loved the first, eponymous song of this album. It sounded nothing like the Beatles were supposed to sound like: there were a lot of horns, it was loud, they were singing in harmony at something resembling the top of their lungs, there was a circus barker introducing the album. It was awesome.

The rest of the songs are, I think, in a weird order. Would you be surprised if I told you that this album has 'Strawberry Fields Forever,' 'Penny Lane,' and 'Hello Goodbye,' but that the tracks that immediately follow 'Magical Mystery Tour' are 'Fool on the Hill,' 'Flying,' and 'Blue Jay Way,' one of those rare contributions from George Harrison. (I scoured the liner notes as a youngster. That's the sort of thing I remember.)

I loved 'I Am the Walrus' as a lad because of all the crazy lyrics. It still resonates, though maybe to a lesser extent. None of the rest of the songs on this album - even the famous and popular ones - are among my favorite Beatles tunes. Those populate albums like Abbey Road and Sgt. Pepper. But this, curiously, is the only one I have on CD. Maybe it's because I wanted to spend more time studying which animals the Beatles are dressed up as on the cover.

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.  

Lyle Lovett, Lyle Lovett & His Large Band

This album sounds like the strange band that played at the wedding of your slightly-uncomfortable friends.  

Even though it seems as though Lyle Lovett's Large Band is, in fact, made up of actual instruments, they sound suspiciously like keyboard effects on certain songs, especially the beginning of "Stand By Your Man."  Lyle conjures up some folk, gospel, and jazz influences, which made this one of the few — and maybe the first — country albums I own.  Back when I used to listen to it more frequently, I really only listened to three songs: "Here I Am," "Nobody Knows Me," and "Once is Enough."  The first and last are still fun, particularly the last.  Otherwise — well, there's something odd and vaguely bemused about Lyle Lovett's face, as though he's playing something and wonders if you're in on the joke.  And I guess I'm not sure if I am.

Non Sequitur

Enough with the CDs for a moment.  This year, my wife and I decided we were tired of the same old Passover story and foods, so I decided to alter history a bit.  Here's the fruit of my labor — I call it Alternaseder.  Feel free to download and check it out — heck, there's still time to use it for this year's holiday.  

Call & Response, Nightflight

This may be the only album I've ever bought because I heard its music played on The Real World. I forget what season it was, but I'm thinking Hawaii, which was the last season I really watched, mostly because all of the subsequent cycles have featured increasingly vapid and terrible characters who only want to drink and hook up and fight and get arrested. Hawaii had Ruthie, who fit that bill, and terrible Amaya, who was a big ol' waste of space, but there were some eminently watchable people: Teck, who was the best kind of impulsive; Kaia, the moody schemer; and Justin, the manipulative prodigy. Basically, the cast wasn't as predictable as the following seasons have been.

Call and Response's album is pretty monotone. Fortunately, that single note is this: happy. When I put this on, I was fighting traffic, and for the first few tracks, I felt happier. I wasn't fighting traffic; I was collaborating with other cars to get closer to our destinations. The music is lightweight and innocuous. The lyrics are supremely unimportant. You have to smile when you listen; it's a Pavlovian response.

That said, it gets old quickly. Two of the songs started with minor chords and/or ominous sounds, and I was hopeful that Call and Response had some range, but no such luck — the breezy qualities quickly returned. There's a certain unsustainable naiveté that bubble gum albums like this produce, and it's not particularly becoming. You want some difference, some conflict from track to track.

Duke Ellington, Black, Brown, & Beige

I took a class on Duke Ellington in college, and thus feel prone to liking albums like this one — indeed, other than A Love Supreme, I can't think of a long-form jazz piece I enjoy more than Black, Brown, & Beige.  Having taught English, though, I know that it's often the case that studying a book can weigh it down more than one you read for pleasure.  Interesting, then, that listening for credit can have a positive influence on music.  Probably, it's Mahalia Jackson's sincere and bold voice that makes me love this work more so than knowing odds and ends about its history and structure.  Duke Ellington's strength as a composer and arranger was playing to the strengths of his assembled orchestra, and he puts Jackson's solo right in her wheelhouse — she belts without being showy, a hallowed rendition of faith.  The theme she sings in "Come Sunday" wends its way throughout the other movements, too, which cleverly makes the piece more accessible for a broader range of listeners.

This album features several takes of Mahalia Jackson singing, mostly welcome though one or two not.  I don't need to hear her get halfway through "Come Sunday" and then announce that she needs to cough.  

Pink Floyd, Dark Side of the Moon

It's kind of absurd how much I like this album, but there's little doubt in my mind that I would not have discovered it had I not listened to it while watching The Wizard of Oz on mute. Pink Floyd belongs to a genre/era of artists for which I don't have much time. Fortunately, by creating this multimedia experience, they significantly expanded their audience. What freaking geniuses.

If you're not familiar with this thing, you start the CD just after the Goldwyn-Mayer lion's third roar right at the beginning. Scenes change with the music, lyrics synch with action on the screen, characters walk in time to the beat - it is an astonishing achievement, made even more astonishing by two things:

1) It works when you repeat the disc a second time, which absolutely blows my mind.

2) The music is good. Without the context of the tornado that strikes the Gale homestead in Kansas, I might not have noticed what a wailer Clare Torry is on "Great Gig in the Sky," but a lot of the other songs stand on their own. "Us and Them" and "Eclipse" are as powerful as "Money" is playful. Writing music to correspond to a film made Pink Floyd construct an album instead of a mere collection of songs, and an album that not many musicians could hope to top.