RICHARD ASHCROFT
Alone with Everybody
(Hut)
*

Richard Ashcroft is a happy man.

Look at that statement. Consider it. Roll it round your tongue and mind. What is wrong with it? On one level, nothing. We're all decent human beings and we all wish our fellow human beings every happiness in life, especially when they just got married to a fellow musician (Kate Radley, Spiritualized). Even if they were in an overblown, over-hyped Rolling Stones ripoff band (the Verve). That's fine.

No, what is wrong is this: Mr. Ashcroft, for all his myriad musical failings, is a man with a reputation for making drug-laced, paranoiac, insurrectionary music. Remember that video where he's walking down the street, brushing everyone aside? Not the actions of a happy man. But his fans loved him for it, for the way his band's music came across as so brooding and introverted.

This is not an album that will please fans of the Verve. There is none of the self- immolating indulgence, the (allegedly) symphonic magic that many felt Urban Hymns possessed. Instead we have an unambiguously sentimental love album--dedicated to Ashcroft's new wife and son--with music that lulls the listener into a soporific state of boredom. "A Song for the Lovers" and "Money to Burn" are plodding acoustic affairs, vaguely reminiscent of Gram Parsons' inspired country-rock, but lacking Parsons' soul. Indeed, the easy-listening steel guitar and sweeping strings on most of Alone with Everybody have more in common with the Eagles (!) than any tormented white-boy cult figure.

On the odd occasion that the singer ventures back into old Verve territory--"C'mon People (We're Making It Now)," or the psychedelic, lyrically childish "New York"--he sounds bored. His heart is no longer in it. The (alleged) swagger of old has been replaced by a jangling guitar and a tranquil atmosphere; the scratched old '60s albums have been swapped for an IKEA catalogue and a membership to the local golf club. That's the trouble with happiness. It's so difficult to create resonant music when you have a smile on your face and all is right with the world. EVERETT TRUE


SONIC YOUTH
nyc ghosts & flowers
(Geffen)
**

The '90s sucked for Sonic Youth. They spent most of the decade trying to prove that they, not Nirvana, were the noise pop wonders who birthed "alternative" music. It's true that Sonic Youth were making guitar noise long before Nirvana, but the fact is, Sonic Youth are not, and never were, a pop band. They are a pretentious-as-fuck, Lower East Side art rock band that are more comfortable tapping John Cage scores than Monkees hooks. Thankfully, they've stopped trying to be alterna-pop hit-makers and have returned to the experimental turf they courageously and beautifully mined in the early and mid 1980s. (Hooray! Give me the chimney cacophony of 1985's Bad Moon Rising over the bubblegum angst of 1991's Nevermind any day.)

Like Sonic Youth's defining moments (Bad Moon Rising, Evol, and Sister) nyc ghosts & flowers strives toward moody art music-- careening between de-tuned ragas, feedback orchestrations, and creepy clinking and clanking guitar tracks--all topped with Sonic Youth's signature singsong melodies. Also like their earlier work, the experimentation here is often anchored by drummer Steve Shelley's ability to set a nice beat--either gentle or heavy--giving shape to the waves of electric guitar. The best examples of Shelley's ability to kick the band into rock territory show up early on this record with songs like "renegade princess," "nevermind (what was it anyway)," and the excellent rave-up that grounds an otherwise painfully pretentious poetry reading, "small flowers crack concrete."

Unfortunately, comparisons to the band's earlier work also reveal this disc's limitations. As the CD continues, the rock gives way and the 10th-grade "poetry" readings take center stage, as in: "on a crimson hiway by a chrome bumper I last saw you: alive/ inclined to thrive/evening fireflies lit sparks around yr head." Sure, Thurston Moore is talented enough to catch you by surprise and turn his dumb scribblings into elegant and plaintive songs, but this latest Sonic Youth recording, while certainly a nice rebound, lacks the full force of this band's supernatural musical talents. JOSH FEIT


QUEENS OF THE STONE AGE
Rated R
(Interscope)
***

Queens of the Stone Age lead singer/guitarist Josh Homme insists that he hates the term "stoner rock," though the name of his band seems to belie that sentiment. He also says the "Queens" part of the name was designed to fuck with the homophobic fans of Kyuss, his previous band. And pissed off they are, judging from chat-room comments posted by noms de plume like Hemp Dude, Big Hair, and Metal Face: "trendy sell-out HOMOSEXUALS," "come outta the closet, you FAGS!" "sounds kinda GAY to me," etc. (Apparently none of these snarling boys noticed the Queens' continued fondness for naked women in their album art.) Rated R, the Queens' sophomore release, strays even further from the bands' stone... er... grun... hard-rock roots. Though the usual bone-heavy, repetitive guitar riffs and deep, sexy vocals are still there, Rated R explores much new ground and displays a more sophisticated production quality than the Queens' self-titled debut. Much of Rated R's more varied sound is due to the addition of many guest musicians, including Mark Lanegan and Barrett Martin of the Screaming Trees. Homme spent some time playing second guitar and touring with the Trees, and in parts of Rated R (especially "In the Fade," with Lanegan doing lead vocals, and the instrumental "Lightning Song") you'd swear you were listening to a Trees album. But if the pop-friendly "Lost Art of Keeping a Secret" or the psychedelic "Better Living through Chemistry" have you convinced the Queens have strayed too far from familiar territory, you'll be comforted by the trance-inducing chant of the album's opener, "Feel Good Hit of the Summer": "nicotine, Valium, Vicodin, marijuana, Ecstasy, and alcohol... c-c-c-cocaine." Well, you know the old saying: The more things change, the more they stay the same. MELODY MOSS


JEFF BUCKLEY
Mystery White Boy Live '95-'96
(Columbia)
****

As early as 1992, the year of the first Pavement album, writer David Foster Wallace (a considerable smartass himself) was calling for the death of irony. Had Jeff Buckley not drowned in the Mississippi River four years later, he would probably by now have buried forever the Age of Letterman in the dead century behind us. What is left are the beginnings of what would have been a very rich career. Buckley's 1994 LP, Grace, barely hinted at the quality of the live bootlegs making the rounds in New York in the mid-'90s (and growing markedly more prized after his death).

This CD holds 77 minutes of Buckley's astonishing live performances. In front of an audience he was a continually transforming channeler of pure emotion: weeping diva one moment and fired-up sexy-man the next. The songs, both original ("What Will You Say," "Dream Brother") and covered (a medley of Leonard Cohen's "Hallelujah" and the Smiths' "I Know It's Over") are the most nakedly emotional since early Patti Smith.

The operatic highlights of this record are an occasion for joy, and chart new continents for the possibilities and states contained in heterosexual masculinity. Buckley was inhabited by so many spirits and powers that it expands the boundaries of ourselves just to listen in to his brief possession. It is heartbreaking that this is all that is left. GRANT COGSWELL


MARK KOZELEK
Rock 'N' Roll Singer
(Badman)
***

Red House Painters were allegedly dropped from their former label 4AD after the corporate types heard the near-legendary guitar solo on "More Like Paper" (from 1996's Songs for a Blue Guitar) and decided that was it, they'd indulged Kozelek & Co.'s tendencies to meander long enough, and it was time to move on to someone more interesting.

Since then, legal difficulties have prevented the follow-up Old Ramon from being released. It doesn't matter, though--indeed, it could all be for the best. Kozelek has always possessed a certain undeniable melancholic grace... but (as already mentioned) he does have a tendency to ramble.

Stripped of his band and given just the barest of instrumentation to adorn his eloquent, haunting voice, we are reminded of just why we fell in love with his slow-paced, John Denver-inspired melancholy. "Around and Around" and the poignant elegy "Rose Marie" are solemn and simmering, while his cover of AC/DC's rampant youth anthem "Rock 'n' Roll Singer" is almost unrecognizable. Amazing what a little minimalism will do. EVERETT TRUE


WEARY
Weary
(Self-released)
**

This 12-song CD introduces a local band that has solidly described a single degree on the country-rock azimuth. This band has a sound. Kevin Aichler has scratched his guitar pick into his desk at the Tractor School so determinedly that the groove he cuts displays decades of the tree's life taken to build it. But the songs here only come halfway, with a few exceptions: "When Donna Sang" and "Night after Night" are jukebox-worthy cuts, and the funereal singalong of "Sleep" might be this band's optimal vibe, close as it hovers to the Pernice Brothers' patented, dreamy opiate-folk. Otherwise, Weary's foot-dragging two-step is most reminiscent of Josh Haden's band Spain, which flashed across the sky a few years back, leaving nothing to be remembered for except a moody, suggestive aura that never produced anything solid.

However painstakingly crafted and heartfelt, this is the smooth husk of a seed that will cling to no sweater. Still, Weary are way better than 99 percent of what's out there. It is nice to see that one more of the mainstays of the Tractor's Austin-in-the-'70s scene is actually based in Ballard. A little more cross-pollination on the bricky avenue would produce a lasting act or several. Please try your call again. GRANT COGSWELL


SUNNY DAY REAL ESTATE
The Rising Tide
(Time Bomb)
****

How It Feels to Be Something On was a fragile, inconsistent headphones album that a lot of folks--present company included--gave too much credit because it had been so long between Sunny Day records.

That said, The Rising Tide picks How It Feels up by the nipples, slams it to the canvas, tap dances on its face, then gives it a hug for being such a great big brother. This album rocks in a very unique, ethereal way. It sure as hell isn't reminiscent of Rush, as you may have read elsewhere. "One," "Killed by an Angel," and "Snibe" thump and sweep just like the title says they should; they are inspiring, politically charged gems in an album overflowing with four-and-a-half-minute epics.

Like the past three SDRE albums, The Rising Tide promotes an idyllic free society while eschewing waste and ignorance. Thematically, this is nothing the world hasn't heard before, but the message isn't often delivered with such earnest subtlety. It's amazing how Jeremy Enigk's sporadic lyrical duds ("I must break free from the prison I have made" sounds awfully, uh, Creed) recapture relevance in the wash of his and Dan Hoerner's arrangements. The inclusion of restrained keyboard effects offer something new atmospherically, without detracting from the band's raw power.

Sunny Day's career is proof that spiritual songs written for a secular audience and marketplace can be majestic and unpretentious. The Rising Tide is gonna be a tough one to trump. ANDREW BONAZELLI


IN STORES 7/25

Eve 6, Horrorscope (RCA) One of the guys is a shrewd businessman, another has a hard-to-pronounce last name, and the other brushes his teeth five times a day. Sounds like a recipe for success.

Slobberbone, Everything You Thought Was Right Is Wrong Today (New West) They sing songs with titles like "Shoot You Dead," "Sober Song," and "Dunk You in the River." Yup, they're from the South, alright.

Patty Larkin, Regrooving the Dream (Vanguard) Perhaps the coolest thing to come from Milwaukee since Laverne & Shirley, Larkin is supposed to have a book out soon teaching her guitar technique.

Tsar, Tsar (Hollywood) The Tsar once struck fear and awe in the hearts of the Russian people. Now Tsar just wants you to buy their album and worship them.