Kathy Mattea has one of Nashville's strongest set of pipes; thanks to them she can kick some very ho-hum tunes into high gear. And therein lies the problem with this album: Mat-tea's no-nonsense mezzo-soprano is wasted on the slightly cornpone fare here. The Grammy winner is best at solid, gutsy I-will-survive-there's-no-stopping-me-now numbers, like this album's title track, a most convincing case for walking away from a destructive relationship. Driven by a killer hook, it has crossover hit written all over its ringing chorus. The rest of the album is an assortment of wishy-washy pop that merely maintains Mattea's status as a great talent who, unfortunately, doesn't always choose the best material. (Mercury)
The Free Spirits, featuring John McLaughlin
The real news here isn't McLaughlin, the founder of fusion guitar, plugging in after a six-year acoustic spell. It's Dennis Chambers, a multi-style virtuoso and arguably the best drummer in the world right now. Others may swing more buoyantly—Chambers, who spent years stoking the furnace in George Clinton's P-Funk, plays brutally hard—but few, if any, have Chambers's inexhaustible imagination. He's got a touch of genius.
Though McLaughlin's playing is as impeccable as ever, he's no longer the '70s spitfire whose Maha-vishnu Orchestra shattered genres (and eardrums) worldwide. He's almost subdued here, witty and melodic, an urbane jazz romantic. Evidently content to lay back and let Chambers shine, he rides the drummer's beat like a sandpiper on a tsunami.
Rounding out this trio is 21-year-old organist Joey deFranccsco. Basically, the kid's buried; company like this is too fast for mere adolescents. (Verve)"
Rodney Crowell
Less than five years ago, he was considered one of neo-Nash-ville's best songwriters, singers and producers. But Rodney Crowell's star has faded of late, and many have pinned the blame on his soap-opera breakup with Roseanne Cash in 1991—a split that provided Cash with some of her best material and Crowell with some of his sappiest. Perhaps it is the new label or just time healing wounds, but this collection of simple treasures, sung with renewed urgency, finds the multi-Grammy winner back on his game. Some will no doubt wonder if he still has his failed marriage on the brain (particularly with the gently mournful "That 01' Door"). But "I Don't Fall in Love So Easy" could become the sensitive guy's theme song, while "Big Heart" is an unabashed paean to the glories of women.
At his best, Crowell is a master of the keen, understated observation. And this is some of his best. (MCA)
Frank Black
Before Seattle brought you Nirvana, the Pixies were alternative rock's eccentric stars, spinning tales about aliens and other strangers. After the band's 1992 split, bassist Kim Deal went on to even greater things with the Breeders, while lead singer Black Francis (né Charles Michael Kitridge Thompson TV) changed his name to Frank Black. At his subversive best, Black still rides a surf-punk groove. But aside from the affecting "Sir Rockaby" and a few superlative riffs on "Fiddle Riddle," his second effort backs away from the cutting edge, offering more interesting titles—"Whatever Happened to Pong," "Pure Denizen of the Citizen's Band"—than songs. Perhaps Black should consider changing his name and trying again. (Elektra)
The Brian Setzer Orchestra
So what did Setzer, the pompadoured former front man of the Stray Cats, do after retiring that '80s mega-selling rockabilly trio? He founded a 17-piece big-band orchestra, naturally. But stifle that laughter and give this cat a chance He'll knock your socks off.
Setzer comes out swinging with a sassy song called "Lady Luck," one of several original tunes here. He then shifts smoothly from old rockers, such as a souped-up version of "Brand New Cadillac" to enduring standards like "There's a Rainbow 'Round My Shoulder" and "A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square," first popularized by Al Jolson and Glenn Miller respectively. Such mood swings could be disturbing, but Setzer makes it all sound easy, seeming as confident leading a big band as he is squeezing off a few nimble jazz runs on the guitar.
The only real misstep is the overly ambitious, strings-saturated "September Skies," which is simply too incongruous. No biggie though. If you feel the ground tremble a bit, it's probably one of those swing-era bandleaders rockin' (rather than rollin') in his grave. (Hollywood)
Toni Childs
With her third release, the dauntless Childs yokes herself to an ungainly conceit presumed extinct since the '70s: the concept album. This transcendental song cycle follows a woman's passage through life from delivery to deathbed, and it's an undeniably exotic collection thanks to Childs's deeply shaded, resonant voice and the manifold Indian, African and Australian influences with which she spices the music. Unfortunately, with the marginal exceptions of "Womb" and "I Just Want Affection," the results are dour, with melodies that are overwrought and unsatisfying.
Primarily what this self-important album accomplishes is to provide further proof that, in the world of pop music, ambition is a seldom-splendored thing. (Geffen)
- Contributors:
- Amy Linden,
- Tony Scherman,
- Jeremy Helligar,
- Andrew Abrahams,
- David Hiltbrand.
Saved by the Bell Reunion
The hookups, the meltdowns, the memoires
The case reveals what was really going on what they think of each other now!
