Pink
The sneering bad girl of MTV and “Moulin Rouge” fame changes her musical style as often as her hair color (it’s blond now, or is it black?). With a multi-platinum R&B and pop album under her low-slung belt, Pink stage-dives into punk with a little help from Rancid’s Tim Armstrong. Thanks to boot-stomping tempos, hissing guitar and rough-and-tumble melodies, the music finally matches Pink’s acerbic lyrics and overall bad attitude. The weakest moment here comes in the form of a gauzy, Zeppelinesque ballad. In Pink’s case, it pays to be mean.
So Much for the City
The Thrills
The first song is called “Santa Cruz,” the second is “Big Sur,” the third’s about a lazy day on the beach and the fourth name-checks San Diego. So naturally, the five members of this blissfully retro, California-obsessed band are all from … Dublin. It’s unclear from their transporting debut CD if the Thrills have heard anything recorded since 1968. But listening to this sun-soaked love letter to the Beach Boys, the Byrds and the Monkees, you begin to wonder, did they really miss anything?
Comin’ From Where I’m From
Anthony Hamilton
Who knew a song about “Cornbread, Fish & Collard Greens” could be so sexy? R&B veteran Hamilton-who has worked with Tupac, D’Angelo and the Nappy Roots-could make a Barney tune sound sultry, thanks to his scratchy-smooth vocals and sleepy Southern cadence. After 10 years of work behind the scenes and a debut that went largely unnoticed, Hamilton takes center stage and delivers a collection of rich, raw and captivating songs in the vein of soul greats like Bill Withers. If Hamilton is any indication, R&B should wear a baseball cap and faded jeans more often.
title: “Snap Judgement Music” ShowToc: true date: “2023-01-22” author: “Walter Maldonado”
Betty Rules
The off-Broadway musical “Betty Rules” (which just opened in Chicago) is the autobiographical tale of a 17-year-old unsigned girl band from New York. The alterna-rock show, directed by “Rent’s” Michael Greif, is performed by original Betty members Alyson Palmer and Amy and Elizabeth Ziff. Now the soundtrack is out, which, like the show, follows Betty through dingy venues, lame boyfriends, drug addiction and hysterical group-therapy sessions. There’s even a brush with a major-label exec: “You think someone else should write our songs? You clueless creep with comb-over hair, say what you want, we just don’t care.” Edgy performances, catchy pop-punk melodies and sweet-’n’-sour lyrics paint a vivid picture of life just under the radar.
You Are the Quarry
Morrissey has always comforted the always uncomfortable, and his first album in seven years is dependably sullen. He’s unusually witless and unironic on “America Is Not the World,” but returns to form with titles like “The World Is Full of Crashing Bores” and lines such as: “I’ve had my face dragged in/Fifteen miles of s–t/… And I do not like it.” At times, the music doesn’t buttress the weighty topics he tackles, but “First of the Gang to Die” is as solid a song as Morrissey has in his post-Smiths arsenal.
title: “Snap Judgement Music” ShowToc: true date: “2023-01-08” author: “Elizabeth Glover”
Our Endless Numbered Days Iron & Wine Florida folk singer Sam Beem–he’s both Iron and Wine–earned a small, rabid following with his intimate, whisky-soaked 2002 debut “The Creek Drank the Cradle,” and his follow-up CD is another tiny gift. Beem sings in a patient hush, like a Southern-fried Simon and Garfunkel, turning his tales of marriage, death and childbirth into secrets whispered to a loved one. At his best, on tracks like “Naked as We Came,” about a couple in bed talking about the end of their lives, he’ll break your heart. It’s just a voice and a guitar, but there’s nothing missing.
Me & Mr. Johnson Eric Clapton The second smartest move on Eric Clapton’s tribute to the Delta blues demigod Robert Johnson is the song that’s not here: “Crossroads,” which Clapton nailed once and for all back in 1968. These electric versions of “Love in Vain” and the rest are more respectful, more tasteful–and basically unnecessary. So skip right to the smartest move: “Hellhound on My Trail.” Clapton’s lumpy, jangled, discordant interpretation is both the most Johnsonian and the most original track by a mile. Truly scary.
