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The Jesus and Mary Chain
Psychocandy, Darklands, Automatic, Honey's Dead, Stoned & Dethroned
(Blanco Y Negro/Rhino)

In the record store where I work, there has been a palpable excitement for the Jesus and Mary Chain reissues with indie kids who were babies when 1989's Automatic was first released. The timing is right for these reissues. The crush these kids have on a band they hardly or don't remember has been growing these past six years, ever since the release of the first Black Rebel Motorcycle Club CD, a band that shamelessly apes JAMC's sound. This coincided a few years later with Sofia Coppola using "Just Like Honey" in Lost In Translation. And of course, the reformed Pixies still play their cover of "Head On" live. On top of all of this, the band's albums have been out of print for years in America. Like a cool new transfer student whose reputation precedes him even before his first day of school, these reissues were hot before they ever hit the shelves.

What you get here are Jesus and Mary Chain's five original studio albums (1988's B-sides collection, Barbed Wire Kisses is not included), each containing a DualDisc DVD of three music videos from that particular album. Listening in order, you travel in time from 1985-1994, and in doing so you hear the feedback fall away, and the records become more straightforward and overtly poppy. Through the course of the five albums, though, the band remains true to their desire to blend the music of The Velvet Underground and The Shangri-La's. The sound of JAMC is instantly recognizable: '60's pop in black leather, filtered through '80s disaffection.

1985's Psychocandy sounds like it was recorded in a bathroom. The drums (played by future Primal Scream frontman Bobby Gillespie) sound like a washing machine full of quarters being banged on down the hall. The fuzz and feedback is so thick you'd swear someone was using a power sander on a blown amplifier during the recording process. At times it's almost headache-inducing. The assault is brutal, yet the album is sublimely catchy. That's because at their core, the brothers Reid are pop songwriters. Drowning their hooks in reverb was all smoke and mirrors, layers of clothing to hide their intense shyness. These guys could never handle pop stardom, so they made a record that would guarantee this would not be an issue. It's the ultimate teenage hipster record, really, in that these are great songs that would naturally turn off your parents and Joe Football Hero just by their sheer sonic bad attitude. It's a record that can feel uniquely your own.

The band was accused of "going soft" for 1987's Darklands. The naysayers may have had a point, but I don't see that as a bad thing. The record doesn't really sound soft, but it is missing Psychocandy's wall of noise. It is certainly a mellower record, but their trademark song structure is here. Without the layers of fuzz, you can hear the bleakness of the band's lyrics. Never a band to hide from their influences, the title track borrows from Bowie's "Heroes," while "Cherry Came Too" slyly acknowledges The Beach Boys' "Surfin' Safari." Darklands, despite the gloomy, apocalyptic lyrics, sounds sweet, almost romantic, twenty years later. They also declared on this album, eight years before Garbage, to be "Happy When It Rains."

Automatic streamlined the Jesus and Mary Chain sound to the point of near commercial viability. For many younger fans, including me, it was a breakthrough record, and their introduction to the band. Comparing it to their earlier work, it does sound very polished and insanely catchy. The drums sound like the early '80's output of the "Legs"-era ZZ Top. Unlike the gloom of their earlier records, you can almost imagine putting the top down to cruise on a sunny day with this one. This had to sting to the devotees who had been with the band since Psychocandy. I don't think of it as a sellout so much as a dropping of the pretense. This is a band more comfortable with their sound and in their skin.

1992's Honey's Dead embraced the dance-y Manchester Sound of The Stone Roses and The Charlatans, while giving it a more grungy industrial edge. It's another defiantly poppy record, and one presumably geared toward breaking them big time in the U.S. (the band did Lollapalooza that year). "Far Gone and Out" is stupefying in its catchiness. It sounds like a huge hit single. Listening to it now, I wonder why it isn't a touchstone of alternative rock radio. The bad drum sound of Automatic is gone, and in retrospect, it's one of their strongest records.

Lastly, 1994's Stoned & Dethroned sounds devoid of youthful bravado. A lovely record released at the height of grunge, they sound here like a band content to let the whippersnappers work up a sweat. Far from lazy, this album sounds world weary, as if they've seen too much to try to impress you anymore. I paid virtually no attention to it upon its initial release, despite liking "Sometimes Always," the radio hit duet with Mazzy Star's Hope Sandoval. Hearing it now for really the first time, it's maybe the most interesting record of the bunch. It still sounds like JAMC, only more mature and intimate. And "Sometimes Always" still sounds fantastic.

If I have a complaint here it's that these have all been reissued as DualDiscs, a two-sided disc, with a CD on one side and a DVD on the other. I think most consumers would have been happier with bonus tracks than the three music videos you get on each release. Even if the band wanted their videos out there, a separate DVD containing all of them would seem to make more sense. You have to put five DVDs in your player to even see all the videos. Based on the feedback received that the record store where I work, no one likes DualDiscs, a music industry trend that seems to be growing. They are cumbersome, unwieldy, and too thick for some car players. People fear both products will be inferior when combined. I've even heard fearful talk of the product oxidizing and eventually separating into two parts. Some customers refuse to purchase them on principle. It's the New Coke of the record industry, thrust upon an unsuspecting public, when no one was asking for it, and no one seems to want it. Only unlike the Coca-Cola Company, the music industry refuses to admit their blunder, hoping that we will all just accept this bastard hybrid. Considering the tenuous (at best) grasp record companies have on consumers in the iPod age, I wonder if they can afford to be so stubborn.

-Jeremy Frye

Grant-Lee Phillips
nineteeneighties (Zoë/Rounder)
Matthew Sweet and Susanna Hoffs
Under The Covers, Vol. 1 (Shout Factory)

Covers records are a dicey proposition. Even originating from the most genuine of places (the artist loves the songs and really wants his/her fans to hear them), it comes across as desperate. They are rarely regarded in hindsight as anything more than a throwaway, something just for the hardcore fans of that particular artist. However, I can see the fun in making one. Throwing together a collection of your favorites, and putting your own stamp on them - well, any music fan can think up their ideal tracklist. On record store shelves right now are two new entries into the covers album category: Grant-Lee Phillips's nineteeneightees, and Matthew Sweet and Susanna Hoffs' Under The Covers, Vol. 1.

Former Grant Lee Buffalo frontman Grant-Lee Phillips is blessed with one of my favorite voices and is responsible for one of my "desert island discs," Grant Lee Buffalo's 1994 album, Mighty Joe Moon. His three solo albums have been spotty at best, but I hang on because he truly is one of those people I just love to hear sing. TV viewers probably know him best as Stars Hollow's resident town troubadour on Gilmore Girls. For his new CD, he is covering eleven favorites from the Reagan era, all of the college rock/new wave persuasion. Let's see...you've got The Pixies, New Order, Joy Division, Robyn Hitchcock, Echo & the Bunnymen, The Psychedelic Furs, The Church, Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds, R.E.M., The Cure, and The Smiths all covered here.

The problem is, most of these songs are really well known, at least by me, and he adds nothing to them. They are all sung in the same mellow-to-the-point-of-medicated delivery, virtually every song delivered in the same drone-y tempo. The ukulele and slide guitar waltz of "Wave of Mutilation" gets you ready for the luau, and is a huge misstep in terms of arrangement. It's one of the only songs that brings something somewhat original to the table and it fails. Most of the songs are fine but dull renditions. "The Killing Moon" is a note-for-note cover. The songs that work the best are "Age of Consent" and "City Of Refuge," possibly because those are tunes I am less familiar with. I enjoyed his orchestral, Bryan Ferry-esque version of "Last Night I dreamt That Somebody Loved Me." An ok, if inconsequential record, a good many of these tracks sound like open mic night at the coffee shop.

Matthew Sweet and the Bangles' Susanna Hoffs have worked together before, as part of Austin Powers' fictitious backing band, Ming Tea. The '60's-era spoof may have sparked this collaboration of fifteen cover songs from the same time period. Somehow, this works much more successfully than the Grant-Lee Phillips record, perhaps because their love for this material gets internalized and spit out as fun, not dour. Here we get versions of songs originally recorded by The Marmalade, The Beatles, Bob Dylan, Fairport Convention, Neil Young and Crazy Horse, Love, The Beach Boys, The Stone
Poneys featuring Linda Ronstadt, The Who, The Velvet Underground, The Zombies, The Mamas and The Papas, The Left Banke, and The Bee Gees. These songs are often not the most well known songs by these bands. The arrangements are generally quite thoughtful and the production warm, and their voices work together magnificently. Hoffs' lovely voice makes a real heartbreaker out of Fairport Convention's "Who Knows Where The Time Goes?," a song I genuinely didn't know before I heard her version. Rockers like "Cinnamon Girl" and "The Kids Are Alright" really rock, and conversely, harmony numbers such as "The Warmth of The Sun" and "Monday, Monday" are treated with the reverence they deserve. Their harmonies are beautifully done.

Neither record contains renditions you are likely to think of as the definitive versions of any of these tracks, but the Sweet/Hoffs record is eminently more listenable. While Grant-Lee Phillips's CD conjures up the worst ideas of why an artist would record a covers album (writer's block? contractual obligation?), Sweet and Hoffs just seem like kids having a blast. It seems like more of a diversion than a necessity. On paper, Grant-Lee Phillips's song choices sound far more interesting ('60's covers? Yawn...), but Matthew Sweet and Susanna Hoffs show what a little excitement and studio magic can do to liven things up. For once, I hope the Vol. 1 in the title means there'll be more.

-Jeremy Frye

Psapp
The Only Thing I Ever Wanted (Domino)

Okay, here are the three things you will come across most often when you look into the English duo Psapp:

1. Quirky soundscapes
2. Xylophones, toy instruments, and possibly the actual kitchen sink
3. Stereolab

Eek. Quirky done wrong can be the soundtrack to that nightmare you have - you know, the one with your dog and the Hello Kitty army. Quirky done right can get you in some high-profile places - you know, like the opening credits of "Grey's Anatomy". Luckily, Carim Clasmann is interested in making music, not noise. Layering the clicks and clacks to make his beats, he intertwines keyboards and flutes and, I don't know, alarm clocks AND manages to come up with catchy melodies. The Stereolab reference becomes clear the moment Galia Durant begins to sing, her smooth and creamy vocals serving as a pleasant anchor amidst the many sounds.

Psapp kicks in the door with the excellent "Hi", a plucky li'l optimistic number. "I know how I want it to be/Don't make me think before I speak," Durant croons as water swishes behind her. "This Way" is great too, very sunshine-reflected-off-of-broken-glass. Believe me, Psapp does quirky right - but after about six songs quirky becomes "quirky" and your eyes start to cross. I think Clasmann might have tired of it too. "Make Up" is a torchy piano (only!) ballad and "Eating Spiders" a pleasant enough guitar driven tune, but those are tracks 9 & 10 on a CD of eleven songs. I mean, did you get that far into it? I heart toy keyboards and glitches and even I was bored. I imagine changing the sequencing could fix that problem. But so would trusting your songwriting abilities. You don't have to jingle a pocket full of dimes on every song - just let Durant work her magic. The Only Thing I Ever Wanted is a bit much all the way through, but I think it's a stellar candidate for shuffle play on your mp3 player of choice.

-Shalewa Sharpe

Lady & Bird
Lady & Bird (Yellow Tangerine)

Every good fairy tale has a compelling mythology. Not all of them, however, feature a coffeehouse duo's rendition of the theme from M*A*S*H. This is but one of the pleasures of this unusual debut, a rainy-day, put-on-some-tea collection of magical, austere numbers. The conceit of the record, a collaboration between Keren Ann Zeidel and Bardi Johannsson, is that each embodies a character that only comes to life when they perform together. Lady and Bird are odd creations, their moments of vocalization among the disc's highlights.

The majority of the duo's tracks are folk-based, organic affairs, twinkling with instrumental flourishes that complement Keren Ann's wispy, intimate vocals. Their counterpoint is the healthy dose of dark, dramatic electronica that disrupts the quiet, churning with eerie emotion. The two elements mingle in a most satisfying fashion on "Run in the Morning Sun," a number that comes across like a collaboration between Air and Cat Power.

Throughout the recording, the performers' warm, human connection stays with the listener, whether they're rendering an especially faithful version of the Velvet Underground's "Stephanie Says" or creating their own world of private meaning, lovers connecting through fantasy. What we have here is a postmodern Mickey & Sylvia, wonderfully in touch with their hearts and imaginations.

-Amanda Langston

Golden Shoulders
Kin (Welcome Home Records)

Golden Shoulders' latest EP opens with a bang. "My friends and my family are remarkable people / They are nothing like the creeps in this town," declares Adam Kline in an arresting whine. From there this northern California collective delivers an all too brief, easy to love intersection of sweet harmonies, bouncy piano melodies and Kline's acerbic, yet relaxed, songwriting. A lush, vigorous ear-caress, this deserves to be played on a loop: it's one of the most appealing recordings in recent memory.

-Amanda Langston

The Raconteurs
Broken Boy Soldiers (V2 Records)

Any musical endeavor whose end result is Brendan Benson making some money is one I can endorse. After ten years of toiling in power-pop obscurity with three excellent albums under his belt, the man has earned a little success. That having been said, it hurts as a fan to hear a well-known DJ at a local powerhouse modern rock station refer to his new band, The Raconteurs, more than once as "Jack White's new band that he formed with his friend, Brandon."

Brendan Benson's not the star here, and I knew that going in. A supergroup in name only, you'd be hard pressed to find someone who could name more than one member. As it is, though, I'm a fan of The White Stripes, as well as The Greenhornes, two-thirds of whom round out the rhythm section. I was excited by the possibilities, having followed in the press the last few years the mutual admiration society building between Brendan and Jack White. Looking back on The White Stripes' cover of Benson's "Good To Me" on the "Seven Nation Army" single, this union seemed bound to happen.

Early reports were encouraging. "Steady, As She Goes," which bombarded rock radio like no other single in recent memory (except perhaps Gnarls Barkley's "Crazy"), is a delicious slice of cake. The power-pop nerd in me gleefully relished hearing this brand of skinny-tie pop on the radio again, mainstream society having deemed it extinct in 1984. Yes, the bassline is all Joe Jackson, but the melody is all Brendan Benson. "I can't believe they are playing him on the radio." I must've said it to myself ten or twenty times. Jack's voice and delivery mimic Brendan's so closely, I honestly thought it was him singing the song until I saw the video.

Much like "Steady, As She Goes," the entire Broken Boy Soldiers album is an uncanny sonic meld of the musical styles of The White Stripes and Brendan Benson (sorry, Greenhornes, but you're just the rhythm section). A Brendan Benson album with more garage-y fuzz, or a White Stripes album with a softer pop sensibility? You be the judge. Two great tastes that taste great, or at least pretty good, together. And even if "Steady" had me vexed, it's generally not hard to tell who is singing any given song. Benson's mellow "Hands" would fit right in on his last solo album, The Alternative To Love. It features little-to-none of Jack White's signature punch, save for some minor guitar skronk near the end. Conversely, the Robert Plant wail of "Broken Boy Soldiers" is all Jack White. Singing the encouraging credo, "I'm through ripping myself off," I imagine he feels the rigid structure of The White Stripes has reached its logical conclusion for now, thus explaining the diversion of forming this band. Your guess is as good as mine what "Intimate Secretary" is about. It's a nice little rocker, but it seems to be comprised of nothing more than rhyming non-sequiturs. Typical lyric: "I've got a red Japanese teapot/I've got a pen but I lost the top." "Together" takes us back to familiar Benson territory, and one of my favorites on the album. It's a nice soulful ballad with lyrics that actually convey some sort of meaning.

You wrote our names down on the sidewalk
The rain came and washed 'em off
So we should write 'em again on wet cement
So maybe people a long time from now will know what we meant

It's not Dylan, but it's perhaps the best the album has to offer. "Level" is a throwaway. They seemingly wanted to work the line, "My baby's on the level" into a song, and so they have. "Store Bought Bones" typifies the album: sounding great, rocking, but it's fluff to its sugary core. They seem more concerned here, as with much of the album, with sounding cool than writing a great song. And I consider both White and Benson to be, on occasion, great songwriters. "Yellow Sun" is another fluffy lyrical head-scratcher, featuring the hook, "You're making me hungry/But what's really funny is it's not sunny anymore." "Call It A Day" is one of the stronger tunes on the album, with an interesting structure and cool backing vocals. "Blue Veins" is a Jack White bluesy dirge, which honestly gives me a hard Prince vibe. This is Jack's second best showing, following "Steady, As She Goes," which, in the end, stands as the best song on the album.

Ultimately, after having digested the entire record, The Raconteurs are less than the sum of their parts, their music diluting what makes the each member great on their own. The album sounds like a side project, and doesn't make me forget for a second the better music made by the band members during their day jobs. No one is to blame, and no one said they had to record Rubber Soul. They have simply made a meager 10-song effort that I don't believe would be "important" on any grand scale were it not JACK WHITE'S BAND. If Brendan Benson were the biggest star in The Raconteurs, the album would be reviewed well by magazines like Magnet and power-pop sycophants like Not Lame, bought by the few devotees of the man's output, and quickly forgotten. For further proof, see Brendan's previous side project, Mood Elevator. Who? Exactly. Half of me applauds them for making a comfortable, humble album, which puts on no airs of trying to be The Best Record of 2006. The other half of me is disappointed with the final product, wishing they had strived for more.

-Jeremy Frye

Metallic Falcons
Desert Doughnuts (VoodooEros)

Fancy a peyote-fueled visit with the Manson Family at Spahn Ranch? Perhaps you long to spend time in a Victorian music hall, or to attend a Black Mass in outer space. All of these unlikely scenarios seep into your brain once you've been touched by this spooky, elusive music.

Helmed by Matteah Baim and CocoRosie's Sierra Casady, this collection of psychedelic dirges ventures far from conventional songcraft, pausing for a tender moment only to force an intense encounter with one's subconscious in the next measure. Hovering near the border between worlds, the tracks blend cacophonous, meditative walls of sound with eccentric female voices, nocturnal angels setting the stage for a seance with cultlike chants and fairy-tale atmospherics. Distinguished friends of the duo lend a hand; Antony's supernatural warble quavers over "Nighttime and Morning," and Devendra Banhart allegedly appears, though his voice was lost to me amongst the general eccentricity (maybe he just lent his patchouli-scented vibe to the project).

Following their own path the entire time, Metallic Falcons may scare the bejesus out of you, or they may just feel like something holy. Either way, this is an encounter that you won't soon forget.

-Amanda Langston

Kimya Dawson
Remember That I Love You (K)

Back in 2001, I found the Moldy Peaches, with their seemingly affected performances and attention-starved attitude, a cringeworthy addition to the Strokes’ first American tour. Her inauspicious public debut notwithstanding, since then Kimya Dawson has been busy with a solo career. Fortunately, her latest effort is as heartfelt and touching as the Peaches’ work felt gimmicky.

This record isn’t for you if you’re put off by communication so direct and unpretentious that it seems almost foreign. Dawson writes about whatever crosses her mind, whether it be garden-variety alienation, her family, protesting the war in Iraq or contemplating the vastness of the universe (“I Like Giants”). The strange combination of her often grown-up subject matter and her childlike vocal delivery, reminiscent of Jonathan Richman and Daniel Johnston, elicits a heady buzz of recognition and empathy.

Remember maintains its simplicity throughout both music and lyrics. Dawson’s acoustic guitar is enhanced with ukelele, violin, bells, mandolin and her friends’ backing vocals, as on the singalong “My Rollercoaster.” She sings a medley of cornball tunes on this track with the same innocence employed to recount the fate of a tsunami survivor on “12/26,” which may blindside you with its devestating imagery. Both songs require her to display an endearing vulnerability, exactly the kind that honest art, and living, requires.

-Amanda Langston