UNWOUND
Leaves Turn Inside You
(Kill Rock Stars)
****

The only reason Unwound's last album, Challenge to a Civilized Society, was a bit disappointing was that it followed five perfect records. Challenge was far from bad, but it definitely felt transitional; Unwound had defined its parameters (screaming squalls girded by rhythmic ferocity) so perfectly by the time its masterpiece, Repetition, came along that the only next step was to utterly explode them. Well, three years later and the explosion is complete, arriving in the daunting form of Leaves Turn Inside You, a double album that finds the band delving into psychedelia, drone, synth weirdness, and even experimental pop, all the while retaining the essential grain of undefinable Unwound-ness that makes the band such a limitless pleasure to listen to. In fact, there's nothing on this record that wouldn't have fit individually on the band's earlier releases (especially the song "Scarlette")--Justin Trosper's guitar still bears its unmistakable chime, Vern Rumsey's bass is as urgent as ever, and Sara Lund is still the best, most inventive drummer in the world. It's just that, taken all in all, the sound has shifted from the screaming, obliterative power of, say, "New Energy" to an intensity of a far more insistent and disturbing sort. Leaves Turn Inside You is dark, quiet, and mature, neither whisper nor scream, just the next step in the evolution of a truly great band. SEAN NELSON

MOODS FOR MODERNS
Loud & Clear

(Doghouse Records)
***1/2

Hmmm, Moods for Moderns. On first laying me peepers upon MFM's L&C, I expected to hear a bit of danceable jazz... the band's name is Moods for MODERNS, after all! Well, MFM ain't got no jazz; HOWEVER, to my delight, this trio picks solid on the power pop. It's good stuff, too, because MFM, thankfully, owes more to the Boys, Badfinger, AND all the squishy GOOD feelings that '70s power pop elicits. It's THAT, versus any "Westerberged" indie nod or concessions to "punk"... and the band's from Detroit, no less. By the way fellas, nice denim outfits... not unlike the crew of Faces in S.F., known for wearing head-to-toe Miu Miu. MIKE NIPPER

JOE DAVIS
Hope Chest

(In Music We Trust)
***

From Pinehurst Kids' Joe Davis comes a solo record that showcases his fine, gentle voice and his lack of complexity as an artist. There's no punk to the pop here (as is the case with Pinehurst Kids), which leaves the record feeling a bit weightless at times. Singers putting out solo records tend to find root less in atmosphere and more in lyrical content, which seems somewhat challenging for Davis, whose airy lyrics need more concrete imagery. Where the atmospherics do work, however, is on a song like "What I Want," which is kept simple and unaffected, the minimal instrumentation turning even the exhalation of Davis' breath at the end of a phrase into an instrument. Hope Chest hits its unassuming stride in song two, "Luigi Bosco," which defines the record as a soft, moody pop album, replete with assured, understated hooks supported by still youthful roots that want time to mature. JEFF DeROCHE

MARK EITZEL
The Invisible Man

(Matador Records)
***

"Because they don't really feel/They're like tables and chairs," murmurs Mark Eitzel on "To the Sea," from his latest album The Invisible Man. Over piano, acoustic guitar, and drum loop, he spiels a lyrical run-on sentence to a romantic. The song details the failings and deceptions inherent in people, before Eitzel admits, "Because I'm just like them." It's a short, propulsive song that exemplifies the best of Eitzel's intelligent, emotional songwriting. Since the disbanding of American Music Club, Eitzel's solo records have taken that band's basic recipe and stripped it down to the essentials. With his confessional songs, Eitzel has captured the ephemeral solitude and delirium of the outsider-narrators who stunt-double for him. They offer an unflinching view of desperation under blue skies and existential dread. With its subtly integrated beats, The Invisible Man has a haunted folk-tronica undercurrent that seems to be a natural progression for Eitzel's sonic palette. The eerie washes and skeletal arrangements create the perfect bed for his most relaxed crooning to date. The after-hours feel and near-pillow talk delivery curl seductively around Eitzel's most clever and biting lyrics, leaving a mark so subtle that it takes a few listens to feel the sinister damage that has been done. It's a disappearing act in reverse. NATE LIPPENS

GRAIG MARKEL AND VERSUS ON VENUS
The Summer Fire EP
(Recovery)
***

On "Texas Hedging," the final track of Graig Markel's The Summer Fire EP, a gorgeous thing happens: Plastiq Phantom steps in. In three short minutes, Markel's voice is reworked--cut up and essentialized, layered over a stuttering treatment of thick beats, its elegant timbre illuminated in the process. "Texas Hedging" is a sexy, soulful mess that makes it clear that Plastiq Phantom, if anyone, understands Graig Markel's sparkling talent and has a good use for it. The rest of the EP is hit or miss. Markel, perhaps afraid of being pigeonholed, or perhaps just because he enjoys exploring his craft, sometimes forgets he excels at writing bright, intimate songs that make both aesthetic and commercial sense--songs that would work on the soundtrack to Dawson's Creek, as well as on your local college radio station. "Daybreak" is smart, easy pop, finely placed on an EP for summer. "Version 45 Style" is a meditative, falsettoed track, overlaid with gentle extra percussion and grounded in warm, straightforward drumming and bass. "Looking Glass" calls to mind the spirit (and the melody) of ELO's "Evil Woman," only there's a "jammy" quality to the guitar-playing that detracts from the soulful feel, rendering the sound more studio musician than songwriter. JEFF DeROCHE

LUCINDA WILLIAMS
Essence

(Lost Highway)
**1/2

Because Lucinda Williams is known for her perfectionist work ethic, I hesitate to say that she should have spent more time on her latest collection, but the truth is that Essence suffers from a lack of refinement. Such an unfinished atmosphere is particularly disappointing when it's obvious that she hasn't lost one shred of her songwriting talents. The opening track, "Lonely Girls," a reflection on the exhausting reality of feminine isolation, cuts to the heart of a broken woman's solitude as sharply as anything Polly Jean Harvey could offer us, but the title track, a breathy, cliché-clogged call to a lover, just isn't as sexy as she obviously wants it to be. Williams' deliberate departure from narrative-driven pieces (with the notable exception of "Bus to Baton Rouge") might have worked if it were more musically challenging, but instead we just long for her more passionate literary kisses. HANNAH LEVIN

JOE HENRY
Scar

(Mammoth Records)
***1/2

Joe Henry writes songs with the compression and precision of short stories. On Scar, the lyrics sear the listener with understated longing and quiet desperation. The characters in his songs are beautiful losers and difficult romantics, beaten down by the circumstances and disillusionment in their lives. Their heroic obstinacy and self-doubt two-step until fate cuts in, and, more often than not, throws the gentle rhythm of their struggles perilously off. Beginning with 1996's Trampoline, Henry has let his music expand beyond the outline of country-rock, exploring rhythm and texture with a complexity that matches his lyrical prowess. On Scar, Henry takes a leap even further left field with a twisted cabaret of stellar musicians fleshing out his songs. On the opening cut, "Richard Pryor Addresses a Tearful Nation," Henry addresses that nation himself with a mixture of rue and sly menace. The song bristles with pained knowingness and thwarted dreams. A haunting alto saxophone is the soul of the number, played by no less than living legend Ornette Coleman. The album unfolds from that peak, venturing further and further out, demonstrating why Henry is able to attract such musical luminaries to play with him--because he is one of them. NATE LIPPENS

HAL BLAINE & THE YOUNG COUGARS
Deuces, T's, Roadsters, & Drums

(Sundazed)
***1/2

For y'all who don't know, Mr. Blaine was a session drummer--and tho' YOU might not recognize his name, many drummers, gettin' learnt in the early '60s, considered him THEIR "Chet Atkins," dig? Right, and with his solo LP he gets down on some heavy instrumental/hot rod HEAT. For me, this is one of the better, more inventive hot rod records, as DTR&D was royally executed by the top L.A. session fellas... the list of "Young Cougars" is as long as my right arm, and DTR&D is produced all swank like, with bright, booming, '60s "soundtrack" clarity... oh, there's even a handy "hot rod" lexicon featured in the liner notes... thank GOD, now I know what "E.T." really stands for! MIKE NIPPER

ANOUAR BRAHEM TRIO
Astrakan Café

ECM Recordings
****

Anouar Brahem plays like a desert breathes. His compositions alternate between nimble and restless and languid and doleful, like a scorched, indigo dusk. The echo of his stunning oud, often restrained, lying scarcely audible behind the mournful soliloquy of the clarinet or the percussive raving of the darbouka, serves as a foundation, allowing his ensemble to solo to precipitous heights. Indeed, Brahem's most precious talent lies in his ability to combine restraint and release. Here, Brahem reunites with two-thirds of the ensemble he worked with so effectively on the haunting 1991 release Conte de L'Incroyable Amour, and while the new disc lacks the surprise of that former recording, it more than makes up for it in the delicacy of the rendering. Barbaros Erköse's clarinet brilliantly describes loneliness, while percussionist Lassad Hosni slips his complicated rhythms in between notes, with the charisma of a pickpocket. But the star, as always, remains Brahem's virtuoso playing. In "Dar Es Salaam" he works with a palette of what seems to be only about five notes, to turn in a vast, beckoning landscape, all suggestion and possibility. Likewise, the insistent, looping, utterly perfected melodies on his bookending versions of the title track leap about with the abandon of a true apostle. One listen, and you'll convert. JAMIE HOOK