Jakob Dylan [2010] Women & Country

[01] Nothing But The Whole Wide World
[02] Down On Our Own Shield
[03] Lend A Hand
[04] We Don't Live Here Anymore
[05] Everybody's Hurting
[06] Yonder Come The Blues
[07] Holy Rollers For Love
[08] Truth For A Truth
[09] They've Trapped Us Boys
[10] Smile When You Call Me That
[11] Standing Eight Count



amg: Continuing in the subdued, stripped-down direction he began with his 2008 solo debut Seeing Things, Jakob Dylan nevertheless achieves a cinematic resonance on his second record, 2010’s Woman + Country. Surely, part of this is down to Dylan swapping Rick Rubin, who has made starkness almost a fetish, for the analog impressionism of T-Bone Burnett, who previously worked with the singer/songwriter on the Wallflowers 1996 breakthrough album Bringing Down the Horse. Woman + Country has little to do with the sturdy, sinewy, straight-ahead rock of Bringing Down the Horse: it’s dreamy and airy, slipping in and out of focus, rootsy without being earthy. Horns swoon and stumble in the background, a string bass thumps time, Marc Ribot gently punctures the murk with his gnarled guitar, while Neko Case and Kelly Hogan add warmth with their harmonies, all creating a hazy glaze that augments with Dylan’s dry, unfussy songs. These seemingly conflicting extremes don’t result in a dissonant disconnect, but rather a subtle richness: the spareness of the songs lend themselves to these layered arrangements which in turn draw attention to Dylan’s tight, clean writing. Naturally, this means that Woman + Country is somewhat of a grower — it’s so purposefully hazy it seems to pleasingly fade into the slipstream upon the first play, but those repeated spins reveal the deep craft at the heart of Woman + Country, deep craft from both the songwriter, his producer, and musicians.
(amg 8/10)

Jarvis Cocker [2009] Further Complications

[01] Further Complications
[02] Angela
[03] Pilchard
[04] Leftovers
[05] I Never Said I Was Deep
[06] Homewrecker!
[07] Hold Still
[08] Fuckingsong
[09] Caucasian Blues
[10] Slush
[11] You're In My Eyes (Discosong)



amg: Perhaps it was inevitable that Jarvis Cocker would find no peace in domesticity. It may have treated him well for a brief period, resulting in the quite brilliant mature pop of his 2006 solo debut, but no other pop star has been as singularly sex-obsessed as Jarvis, so it was just a matter of time before his attentions wandered elsewhere...and so they have on his wildly depraved second album, Further Complications. Right from the start with the thumping "Angela," Jarvis has flesh on the mind, just as he did during the days of His 'n' Hers with its songs about sisters, virginity, and fetishes, but where those songs were underscored by the vague melancholy of somebody who has only glimpsed his fantasy and frets that he will never see it again, the songs here pulsate with perversion, a middle-aged man making damn sure that he's going to get with a tight 23-year-old body yet again; it's the sound of a fetishist turned sexual omnivore. Fittingly, the sound of the record is completely changed, with only the closing "You're in My Eyes (Discosong)" echoing back to the louche, languid urban fantasies of "Deep Fried in Kelvin." The rest is all gnarled, ugly hard rock, dredging up ghosts of the Stooges and the Spiders from Mars, dressing them in stylish second-hand clothes that are razored to ribbons by Steve Albini's typically unflinching production. Under his cold glare, all the madness of Further Complications is pushed right to the surface — all the stuttering, slashing guitars, Steve Mackey's wailing sax, Jarvis' obsessive, compulsive carnality. If he has any regrets leaving the settled bohemian pop professor of Jarvis behind, it only surfaces on "Slush," a dirgelike meditation on global warming overshadowed by the hedonistic riot of Further Complications at large, a record that does its best to live up to Cocker's "never said I was deep, but I am profoundly shallow" proclamation. He's denied his id for too long, so the dam bursts here and it's impossible not to happily wallow in the flood of filth unleashed by Further Complications.
(amg 9/10)

Jakob Dylan [2008] Seeing Things

[01] Evil Is Alive And Well
[02] Valley Of The Low Sun
[03] All Day And All Night
[04] Everybody Pays As They Go
[05] Will It Grow
[06] I Told You I Couldn't Stop
[07] War Is Kind
[08] Something Good This Way Comes
[09] On Up The Mountain
[10] This End Of The Telescope



amg: When the songwriter from a songwriter-driven band steps out on his own the question always hangs in the air: did he need to forsake his band in order to cut this set of songs? In the case of Seeing Things, the first album Jakob Dylan has released outside of the confines of the Wallflowers, he most certainly did. Quiet, reflective, based almost entirely on acoustic guitars, Seeing Things is intimate in a way the road-ready Wallflowers never were, although the tunes are as sturdy and plainspoken as Dylan's songs for the band. Indeed, there's always been a modesty at the core of his writing, so he benefits greatly from this humble setting, masterminded -- as so many big-budget down to basics departures are in the 2000s -- by Rick Rubin, known for his stripped-down reinventions of Johnny Cash and Neil Diamond. Seeing Things isn't nearly as spare as American Recordings or 12 Songs; anchored on acoustics though he may be, Dylan isn't on his own, as bass, harmony vocals, and keyboards are gently woven into the fabric. This gives the music warmth, but the simplicity of the setting helps focus on Dylan's unassuming, well-crafted songs, songs where melodies are gently insinuating and words are so carefully sculpted it's easy to overlook how nicely he turns a phrase. Like many of his peers, Dylan is casting a wary eye on a war-ridden new millennium, but these aren't protest songs, they work on an emotional level and are appropriately balanced with lighter moments, like the lazy shuffle of "All Day and All Night." All through his career, Jakob Dylan has never pushed too hard; he simply lays it out there, so he's uncommonly suited to Rubin's unadorned production. In Rubin's hands, Seeing Things plays like a songwriter playing his newest songs in your living room -- a seductive feeling that no Wallflowers record ever captured, which is an excellent reason for Dylan to step out on his own.
(amg 8/10)

Joanna Newsom [2006] Ys

[01] Emily
[02] Monkey & Bear
[03] Sawdust & Diamonds
[04] Only Skin
[05] Cosmia



amg: The Milk-Eyed Mender was a striking debut that set Joanna Newsom apart from her indie folk contemporaries. Its simplicity and depth, and the way it sounded timeless and fresh, made her a singular figure in that scene. On her second album, Ys (pronounced "ease"), she continues to move in a very different direction than her peers, and even a different one than what her audience might expect. The Milk-Eyed Mender's 12 gentle vignettes sounded like they were basking in sunlight; Ys is epic, restless, and demanding, made up of five dazzling, shape-shifting songs that range from seven to 16 minutes long. Newsom embarks on this adventure of an album with help from talents as diverse as engineer Steve Albini, arranger Van Dyke Parks, and producer Jim O'Rourke (who, come to think of it, is the perfect meeting point between Albini and Parks). Ys' boldly intricate sound plays like an embellished, illuminated, expanded version of Newsom's previous work. Parks' lavish, but never intrusive, orchestral arrangements sometimes make the album feel -- in the best possible way -- like a Broadway musical based on The Milk-Eyed Mender, particularly on the album closer, "Cosmia." Crucially, though, Ys isn't any less "real" than Newsom's other music just because it's more polished. The nature and craft imagery in her lyrics, the transporting sense of wonder and the one-of-a-kind voice of The Milk-Eyed Mender are here too, just in a much more refined and ambitious form: Ys is a gilt-edged, bone china teacup to Mender's earthenware mug.

Along with the beautifully filigreed arrangements and melodies, which mingle strings, jew's-harps, and spaghetti Western horns with Appalachian, Celtic, and even Asian influences, the album shows Newsom's development as a singer. She has more nuance and control, particularly over the keening edge of her voice, which is recorded so clearly that when it cracks, it tears the air like a tangible exclamation point. Ys' daring, plentiful wordplay makes it even more of a rarity: an extremely musically accomplished album with lyrics to match. On "Only Skin" alone, Newsom goes from rhyming "fishin' poles" with "swimmin' holes" to "heartbroken, inchoate." These songs are so full of words and plot twists that sometimes it feels more like you're reading them instead of listening to them, and indeed, actually reading the lyrics in the book-like liner notes reveals that Ys has a library's worth of children's stories, myths, romances, and of course, fairy tales woven into its words. As the album unfolds, it seems like Newsom can't get more ambitious (and more importantly, pull it off), but with each song, she does. Two of the best moments: the darkly whimsical fable "Monkey & Bear," a forest romp that boasts some of the album's best storytelling and some of Parks' liveliest arrangements, and "Sawdust & Diamonds," which is surreally sensual and coltish, with surprisingly direct lyrics: "From the top of the flight/Of the wide, white stairs/For the rest of my life/Do you wait for me there?" Ys isn't exactly a reinvention of Newsom's music, but it's so impressive that it's like a reintroduction to what makes her talent so special. Its breathtaking scope makes it a sometimes bewildering embarrassment of riches, or as one of "The Monkey and the Bear"'s lyrics puts it, "a table ceaselessly being set." Yes, Ys is a demanding listen, but it's also a rewarding and inspiring one. Letting it unfold and absorbing more each time you hear it is a delight.
(amg 9/10)

Jet [2006] Shine On

[01] L'Esprit D'Escalier
[02] Holiday
[03] Put Your Money Where Your Mouth Is
[04] Bring It On Back
[05] That's All Lies
[06] King's Horses
[07] Shine On
[08] Come On Come On
[09] Stand Up
[10] Rip It Up
[11] Skin And Bones
[12] Shiny Magazine
[13] Eleanor
[14] All You Have To Do



amg: The difficult second album has brought many bands back to Earth after a promising debut. With Shine On, Australian hard rockers Jet do their level best to avoid the follow-up doldrums. While nothing here is as immediate and memorable as "Are You Gonna Be My Girl?," the album stacks up well against Get Born. Working again with Dave Sardy, the band maintains its tough and alive sound and delivers the same mix of energetic rockers and introspective ballads as before. They attack the songs with passion, wring plenty of noise from their instruments, and generally sound enthusiastic and creative. The hard rocking songs are what the band is mainly known for and there are some good ones on board, like the pounding "Rip It Up," "Holiday," and the chest-thumping strutter "Come on Come On." Unfortunately, there are also a couple of rockers that fall flat. "Put Your Money Where Your Mouth Is" is a far too obvious attempt to recapture of the feel of "Are You Gonna Be My Girl?," but only ends up sounding desperate. If ever a cowbell felt obligatory, it does here. A few others come up short in the lyrical department; "Stand Up" is a cringe-inducing statement of empowerment and "Holiday" is pretty silly, too. The real strength of the record, and of the band, comes through on the ballads. When they drop the tough pose and get tender, Jet create some nice moments of emotion and melancholy beauty. Sure, the ballads sound as if they were cribbed right from the Oasis playbook, from the sound of the vocals to the structure of the songs, but they don't sound phony or forced. Tunes like "Bring It on Back," "Kings Horses," and "Eleanor" are sophisticated, sensitive, and graceful-sounding, and "Shine On" provides some real emotional weight. Even better than the ballads (which anyone who gave a real listen to the first album knew they could pull off) are the midtempo songs such as "Skin and Bones," the very hooky "Hey Kids" (which overcomes a very clunky Vietnam reference in the lyrics), and "Shiny Magazine," which show a middle ground between flat-out rocking and epic balladry where Jet sounds very comfortable. Shine On is a good album that avoids the sophomore slump, but has enough moments of rote rocking to make the next record a worrisome prospect. If they manage to tip the scales toward their tender and introspective side, Jet may turn out to be a band to reckon with.
(amg 7/10)

Jarvis Cocker [2006] The Jarvis Cocker Record

[01] The Loss Adjuster (Excerpt 1)
[02] Don't Let Him Waste Your Time
[03] Black Magic
[04] Heavy Weather
[05] I Will Kill Again
[06] Baby's Coming To Me
[07] Fat Children
[08] From Auschwitz To Ipswich
[09] Disney Time
[10] Tonite
[11] Big Julie
[12] The Loss Adjuster (Excerpt 2)
[13] Quantum Theory



amg: Always a sharp student of pop, Jarvis Cocker's solo debut — simply, cleanly titled Jarvis on the cover, not so simply called The Jarvis Cocker Album in the liner notes — unmistakably hearkens back to '70s solo debuts from singers who have just stepped away from their bands, whether it's in the terrific washed-out artwork or in its moody contemplative feel. Given the hushed atmosphere of much of the record, it'd be easy to call this introspective, but the curious thing about Jarvis is that it never feels as personal as any of Pulp's '90s albums. Whether it was the impassioned, sex-obsessed His 'n' Hers, the bracing, biting social commentary of Different Class or the weary trawl through the heart of darkness on This Is Hardcore, Cocker's writing was as twitchy and revealing as an exposed nerve: he may have trussed up his thoughts in metaphors and filtered his feelings through narratives, but it's impossible to hear "Babies," "Common People" or "The Fear" without imagining Cocker himself as the protagonist, the central figure in each song. Here, that's not so much the case. Cocker may well tackle topics close to his heart as a life-long misshape now facing his forties with a new wife and baby, but there's little sense of confession on Jarvis: instead, the music is unmistakably the work of a craftsman. That word can seem pejorative to some, since it implies that emotion has been sacrificed for mechanized musicianship, but that's hardly true in regard to this album. This is exquisite craft, the kind that a pop singer/songwriter who has been working at this for a quarter-of-a-century should have: Cocker knows how to structure a song, he knows how to write a lyric with momentum and wit, he knows how to construct a pop record as thrilling as "Black Magic," built around an inspired "Crimson and Clover" sample. That's one of only a couple of moments that are straight-up pop, the other notable ones being the wonderful opener "Don't Let Him Waste Your Time," which glides back and forth on an irresistible elastic hook, and the mean, pummeling "Fat Children," quite possibly the hardest Cocker has ever rocked. These songs — along with the cheerfully vulgar and inspired protest song "Running the World," buried at the end of the album — stand out among the meditative numbers here, songs that recall the measured craft of We Love Life but lack both the epic scale and pervading sense of hope that characterized that album. While hope may not be entirely absent here, Cocker stares dead-on into much of the dread that's permeated the new millennium. The specter of terrorism hangs over the remarkable "From Auschwitz to Ipswich," and "Running the World" directly attacks presidents and prime ministers, but Cocker also strikes out against corporatization, against apathy, against "fat children," he captures the creeping sense that Western society is slowly, surely turning morally bankrupt — and he does it with a weariness that stops short of resignation: he's doing this because he has to, because that's what adult artists do. And this is adult pop, no question about it — even "Don't Let Him Waste Your Time" feels built on the idea that the clock is running short for the woman at its center — but it is an adult pop that escapes conformity without succumbing to the high-class fashions and stylish obscurism of indie yuppies; it doesn't feel like hipster posturing, it's as much a reflection of Cocker's lyrical and musical obsessions as any of his Pulp albums, only it's made specifically for solitude, not the dance clubs. Nevertheless, like the rest of Cocker's work, Jarvis hits the gut first and then lingers in the mind — and even if it isn't as immediate as the prime work of Pulp, it's a richly nuanced, complicated album that finds Cocker near the top of his craft as a writer and record maker.
(amg 8/10)

James Morrison [2006] Undiscovered

[01] Under The Influence
[02] You Give Me Something
[03] Wonderful World
[04] The Pieces Don't Fit Anymore
[05] One Last Chance
[06] Undiscovered
[07] The Letter
[08] Call The Police
[09] This Boy
[10] If The Rain Must Fall
[11] How Come
[12] The Last Goodbye
[13] Better Man



amg: James Morrison's debut had already gone platinum in Britain before it was released in the U.S., and the young singer/songwriter has scored hit singles at home. With a pleasantly soulful voice that faintly recalls Stevie Wonder, he offers several slices of polite soul-pop that deftly manage to recall the heyday of soul while still managing to sound modern — a neat balancing trick. However, smooth as Morrison sounds, for much of the album there's a distinct lack of passion in his voice — and that's a prime ingredient of real soul music. Only on "Call the Police" does he summon any real anguish. "You Give Me Something," his first British hit, is catchy and memorable, but not a classic. Indeed, this is an album without soul classics. Ultimately it's more a piece of pop, but there's nothing wrong with that. Time will tell how ephemeral the songs will be, but Morrison shows here that he might become a real talent with some age and work, and maybe a little personal pain wouldn't hurt. He has a hand in all the songs here, showing definite qualities as a writer. Again, time will tell.
(amg 7/10)

James Dean Bradfield [2006] The Great Western

[01] There's No Way To Tell A Lie
[02] An English Gentleman
[03] Bad Boys And Painkillers
[04] On Saturday Morning We Will Rule The World
[05] Run Romeo Run
[06] Still A Long Way To Go
[07] Emigre
[08] To See A Friend In Tears
[09] Say Hello To The Pope
[10] The Wrong Beginning
[11] Which Way To Kyffin



amg: As the voice and face of Manic Street Preachers, James Dean Bradfield is a deceptively placid presence, presenting Nicky Wire's platitudes with a humble, plainspoken delivery — something that helped sell the more strident politics and also helped bring the band firmly within the coffeehouse territory, crossing over with Everything Must Go. He may front the band but he doesn't write the words, an odd situation for a group so charged and personal as this, but that does mean Bradfield is the ideal choice for a solo album, since it would promise to reveal a side of him thus far unheard on record. His 2006 solo debut, The Great Western, does indeed fill that bill, presenting a sensitive, vulnerable Bradfield, something that hasn't been captured on Manics albums even when they strayed toward colorless mature-pop. Sonically, this album isn't far removed from This Is My Truth Tell Me Yours — it's anthemic yet soft, dramatic yet hushed — but unlike on the Manics albums since, it doesn't sound labored. The Great Western sounds rather effortless both in its music and lyrics, as Bradfield unhurriedly tells intimate stories that are quite affecting partially because they are so modest. This small sense of scale is frankly a relief after the mock grandeur of Know Your Enemy and Lifeblood, and there's a genuine warmth to this record that makes it Bradfield's most endearing, enduring music since This Is My Truth, which bodes well for the next Manics LP.
(amg 8/10)

Jack Johnson [2008] Sleep Through The Static

[01] All At Once
[02] Sleep Through The Static
[03] Hope
[04] Angel
[05] Enemy
[06] If I Had Eyes
[07] Same Girl
[08] What You Thought You Need
[09] Adrift
[10] Go On
[11] They Do, They Don't
[12] While We Wait
[13] Monsoon
[14] Losing Keys



amg: Much of the press surrounding the release of Sleep Through the Static recounted Jack Johnson's claim that he gave all his peppy pop tunes over to the Curious George soundtrack and how that, combined with personal losses — including the death of his cousin Danny Riley, to whom the album is dedicated — led the surfing singer/songwriter into darker territory for his fifth album. To a certain extent, all of that is true, as the album does open with an atypically stark, moody number in "All at Once" and there are some darker sentiments lurking within the 14 songs here, but it takes some close listening to find the sorrow flowing through some of the words. Some very close listening, really, as Johnson's sand-brushed, gentle voice doesn't command attention. His voice lulls and soothes, so it takes concentrated effort to hear beyond his tone and hear what he's actually saying. Then again, the meaning of Johnson's music doesn't matter as much as the mellow mood, a feeling that he's sustained throughout his albums and doesn't change here. Johnson may use more electric guitars than acoustics on Sleep Through the Static, but he's strumming them like acoustics and his overall aesthetic has not changed at all: he's still a laid-back guy singing songs that roll so easy they glide into the background. No matter what instrument he's playing or what he's singing about, his music still feels the same, which is enough to satisfy his fans but not to win him many new ones.
(amg 6/10)

Jack Johnson [2006] Sing-A-Longs And Lullabys For The Film Curious George

[01] Upside Down
[02] Broken
[03] People Watching
[04] Wrong Turn
[05] Talk Of The Town
[06] Jungle Gym (Featuring G.Love)
[07] We're Going To Be Friends
[08] The Sharing Song
[09] The 3 R's
[10] Lullaby (Featuring Matt Costa)
[11] With My Own Two Hands (Featuring Ben Harper)
[12] Questions
[13] Supposed To Be
[14] The 3 R's (Money Mark Remash)

Featuring [06] G. Love, [10] Matt Costa, [11] Ben Harper



amg: Perennial surfer dude/singer/songwriter Jack Johnson lends his voice to the eternally silent Curious George on this collection of "Sing-A-Longs and Lullabies," original material built around the famous monkey and his strange obsession with "the Man with the Yellow Hat." Universal Pictures couldn't have picked a better collaborator for this soundtrack to the Curious George film, as Johnson's easygoing delivery and breezy demeanor match George's silent curiosity to a T. Fellow songwriters Ben Harper, G. Love, and Matt Costa contribute three songs to the predominantly children-oriented affair, while Johnson and band give up an island rendition of the White Stripes' "We're Going to Be Friends," as well as the umpteenth cover of Schoolhouse Rock!'s "Three Is the Magic Number." Heady stuff? Not exactly, but there's not an ounce of pretense to the project, making it a fun, safe bet for kids and a forgettable — yet not entirely unpleasant — piece of escapism for adults.
(amg 7/10)

John Wetton [1997] Arkangel

[01] The Circle Of St. Giles
[02] The Last Thing On My Mind
[03] Desperate Times
[04] I Can't Lie Anymore
[05] Arkangel
[06] You Against The World
[07] Be Careful What You Wish For
[08] Emma
[09] Nothing Happens For Nothing
[10] All Grown Up
[11] After All
[12] The Celtic Cross
[13] Magazines
[14] Woman



progarchives: For this 1998 release, Wetton brought in several prog heavyweights, including Steve Hackett and Robert Fripp, but strangely, he recorded one of his most vocal and pop orientated albums. There's much more Asia to this album and much less King Crimson/Uriah Heep, indeed many of the songs could have been recorded by Asia had John stayed on. "Nothing happens for nothing" for example is an Asia song, pure and simple, with a strong upbeat melody and a catchy hook. There are plenty of ballads and slow acoustic songs too. Of these, the title track and "All grown up" are among the most emotional and enjoyable. The album opens rather deceptively, with a fine if brief instrumental "The circle of St Giles". The mood of the album though is quickly encapsulated in the pop/rock of "The last thing on my mind" (no relation to the Tom Paxton song), a fine song but far from challenging. The other instrumental, "The Celtic Cross" has more than hint of Mark Knopfler's inspirational theme music for the film "Local hero". The final two tracks, "Magazines" and the live recording of "Woman" are hidden bonus songs, which do not appear on all releases of the album. Both are fine, if a tad ordinary, slow Wetton ballads. For those who enjoy the voice of John Wetton, this is a good listen. The songs may be relatively simple, but they are flawlessly performed, and superbly produced.
(progarchives 6/10)

Joe Walsh [1978] But Seriously, Folks

[01] Over And Over
[02] Second Hand Store
[03] Indian Summer
[04] At The Station
[05] Tomorrow
[06] Inner Tube
[07] Theme From Boat Weirdos
[08] Life's Been Good



amg: As far as studio albums go, But Seriously Folks is Joe Walsh's most insightful and melodic. But Seriously Folks, released in 1978, was the album the Eagles should have made rather than the mediocre The Long Run. It captures a reflective song cycle along the same thematic lines of Pet Sounds, only for the '70s. The album's introspective outlook glides through rejuvenation ("Tomorrow," "Over and Over"), recapturing the simple pleasures of the past ("Indian Summer"), mid-career indecision ("At the Station," "Second Hand Store"), and a melancholy instrumental ("Theme From Boat Weirdos"). The disc's finale, "Life's Been Good," is a sarcastic and bittersweet ode to Walsh's "rock star-party guy" persona which reached the Top 10 on the pop charts and became a staple of FM rock radio. The only way But Seriously Folks could have been improved, was to include "In the City," essentially solo Walsh, which unfortunately ended up on The Long Run instead.
(amg 9/10)