Recording review - ÄÄNIPÄÄ, Through a Pre-Memory (2013)

Dramatic textures mired in experimental murk

Can you get too much of a bad thing? A bass beat rumble and detuned guitar strums set the foreboding mood at the very start of Through a Pre-Memory. Joined by an artificial snare and strangely reverberating voices, the ironically named “Muse” is like a gateway into schizophrenic darkness. The dissonant chord progression climbs a couple of steps in an irregular repetition, but, like Sisyphus, always slips back to its starting point. Within the first two minutes, the bleak, defeatist feeling is almost overwhelming and it’s daunting to realize that the track still has another 19 minutes to run. The sonic palette extends to include additional ghostly intrusions: short, insectile squiggles of electronic static like a bad patch cable and jarring echoes of noise that might have their roots in an abused guitar. At 5:22, Alan Dubin from the doom metal band, Khanate, makes his first appearance. Hosting us on our haunted house tour, he roughly shouts a few lines from the writings of Russian poet Anna Akhmatova. The experimental experience transitions into a new ethereal realm, dominated by squeals, squonks and otherworldly echoes. Eventually, at 12:23, Dubin returns to assault us with a rawly screamed accusation that begins, “When/ At night/ I wait for her.” His feral ranting is matched by a metal guitar grind. At this point, it’s so disturbing that it’s easy to look back fondly on the welcoming embrace of the song’s beginning.

Of course, ÄÄNIPÄÄ is not interested in creating pretty music; they’re more engaged in capturing dramatic moments. The two members each have their own experimental approaches that find complementary expression in this duo. Mika Vainio, of Pan Sonic, has long crafted industrial-flavored electronic soundscapes, calculated to evoke tension and doubt. Guitarist Stephen O’Malley leverages both his doom-metal aesthetic and the heavy droning darkness of his band, Sunn O))), to find textures that evoke a hypnotic nihilism. The two artists connected when their bands collaborated on a 2009 cover of Suicide’s “Che”. On this project, they grant themselves full freedom to explore the shadows together.

The remaining three long-playing tracks on Through a Pre-Memory provide their own sojourns through soul-crushing, twilight realms. None of this is cheery, but “Toward All Thresholds” finds the most peace. It slowly thaws to reveal a strange, ambient locale, surrounded by the low buzz of unseen creatures. As night falls, swirls and swoops of sound briefly drift close then dart away. This disorienting sonic sculpture gradually collects details and transitions from a natural space to a grander view of alien artifacts. Vainio’s bass-heavy techno throb underlies this section like a mechanical heartbeat while O’Malley’s guitar accents the piece’s throaty hum with splashes of awe-struck fear. The machine-like drone grows until all is paralyzed. A sharp cut-off and we pass through the doorway, spending the final two minutes in a barren zone, having lost all sense of direction.

It’s very evocative music. This kind of murky catharsis has its satisfying moments, but ÄÄNIPÄÄ pushes so deeply into obscure spaces that the pieces start to drag and lose power. Dubin’s harsh vocals on both “Muse” and the last track, “Watch Over Stillness / Matters Principle”, do contribute to the fearful atmosphere, but ultimately become more of an annoyance. Like most experimental forays, it’s all a matter of taste, but Through a Pre-Memory was too bitter-metallic for me.

(This review first appeared on Spectrum Culture)

Recording review - Wymond Miles, Cut Yourself Free (2013)

Dark derivations fail to impress

Everybody knows that first impressions are important. With short attention spans, people are quick to categorize and move on. Sometimes, those kneejerk responses are spot-on and sometimes they miss the mark. Either way, there’s rarely a chance to reset expectations after that initial impact. On Cut Yourself Free, guitarist Wymond Miles goes out of his way to create the image of a dark, Goth-pop wallflower. He wraps himself in a worn shroud of reverb and emulates Robert Smith’s singing style. Maybe he’s intent on distinguishing his solo work from the cheerier garage rock he plays with the Fresh & Onlys, but he does himself a disservice by pigeonholing his sound.

The first three songs on Cut Yourself Free are not so much a love letter to the Cure as a sympathetic LiveJournal lamentation. Leading off with “The Ascension”, Miles teases us with alt rock guitar downstrokes wrapped in what will become the album’s ubiquitous haze of echo. As the cycle of chords becomes a repetitive loop, the extended introduction gets more interesting, incorporating keyboard swells and honed shards of guitar. This retro new wave vamp eventually gives way to the main song, a sparse tribute to the Cure featuring glum, hollow vocals. By the synthpop shimmer of the third track, Miles has established the album as an echo-laden miasma of emo brooding worthy of his Gothic inspirations.

That’s what makes “White Nights” such an unexpected pleasure. On the early tracks, the guitars strained to break free and explore more expansive reaches with enthusiastic jangle and expressiveness. Finally, they get their chance as Miles backslides to a mood more fitting to his work with the Fresh & Onlys. The sound is buoyed by the XTC pop and new wave backing. The vocals even transform from oppressive to thoughtful. The meandering melody in the fade out deserves more space than it gets, but it’s pleasant enough to get a disruption in the gloomy flow. The brief instrumental interlude that follows, “Bronze Patina”, very nearly recants those first tunes completely. Shimmering walls of heat-struck guitar drone hover like a nearby mirage, carefully framing a dulcet acoustic guitar. The bristling howl of chaos is cast against the rooted faith of sweetly simple finger picking, without resolution. Instead, a yin-yang balance prevails.

Cut Yourself Free doesn’t abandon its dark foundations at that point, but the second half breaks up the monochrome. “Anniversary Song” is packed with melodramatic suffering, but other songs have more to offer. “Vacant Eyes” clings to some Gothic shadows, but it gives free rein to a pensive psychedelia reminiscent of the Moody Blues. “Love Will Rise” is a bit stilted, but the tremolo guitar blends with the synth washes to add an intriguing retro feel. Introducing these richer sounds from the start would have improved the album’s appeal. Leading off with such a derivative sonic palette creates a momentum that wears out its welcome all too soon. Despite his talent on the guitar, Miles can’t overcome that first impression.

(This review first appeared on Spectrum Culture)

Recording review - Elvis Costello and the Roots, Wise Up Ghost (2013)

Don't fear the remixer: a solid collaboration of spirit and flesh

Who exactly is the Ghost on this project? Both Elvis Costello and the Roots have done their own background fades while collaborating with other artists and styles, but neither side hides their light on Wise Up Ghost. Instead, the album resurrects a collection of specters from Costello’s songbook, recasting lyrics and melodic references in an updated setting. Sometimes this teases out new meanings but for the most part, it just shows how relevant his words remain. This concept, though, is worrying on the surface. None of Costello’s fans want to think of him tossing integrity to the wind, finding a young group of hipsters to harness and then rearranging old songs in a desperate plea for relevance. They already know that he’s not a Frank Zappa, constantly stealing from himself to create a web of contextual references, so there’s been some concern about his creative direction on this project.

But none of that distress is justified. Instead, the album captures the best elements of its collaborators. The Roots’ deep dedication to a centering groove is honored across all these songs. Although their MC, Black Thought, is not present, ?uestlove’s steady syncopation and the band’s sparse arrangements create a hip hop vibe that is designed to support and exhibit the vocals. Rather than trying to play rapper, Costello steps in and takes advantage of the space, letting his phrases wander across the beat the way he always has, whether the genre of the moment is new wave or country. Furthermore, Wise Up Ghost has a dystopian tension running through it and a yin-yang balance of bitter and sweet lyrical themes that place it squarely in the median of Costello’s discography, even if the production and music favors the Roots’ aesthetic approach.

It turns out that this isn't Costello’s attempt to redefine himself. Rather, the album arose from impromptu jams when he performed with the Roots on “Late Night with Jimmy Fallon”. During their early meetings, bandleader ?uestlove asked Costello if he’d be interested in “remixing” some of his older songs. This led to new versions of “High Fidelity” from Get Happy (1980) and “(I Don’t Want To Go To) Chelsea” (This Year’s Model, 1978). Based on those successes, the two sides started thinking about working together on a larger project and this remixing approach must have seemed a natural starting point.

The reworking leads to some strong mood changes for the material. “Stick Out Your TONGUE” stretches out Punch The Clock’s “Pills and Soap” like taffy and jettisons its scathing urgency for weary cynicism. Similarly, “She’s Pulling Out The Pin”, an extra track on 2004’s The Delivery Man, becomes “(She Might Be A) GRENADE” and transforms from a snapshot moment of personal desperation to a CSI-style incident analysis, encouraging a more literal reading of the lines.

The stand out example, though, is “WAKE Me Up”, which appropriates lyrics from two different songs. The spare funk groove is bruised and brooding, with the dark imagery from “Bedlam” (The Delivery Man) perfectly balanced by a chanted refrain of, “Wake me up, wake me up…/ With either a slap or a kiss,” from the title track of River In Reverse (2006). Costello’s lyrics and trademark vocal tone is complemented by the Roots’ rhythmic treatment.

As intriguing as it is to play spot-the-reference, Wise Up Ghost offers all new material, too. The album opens with “Walk Us UPTOWN”, which is a vibrant sign of the group‘s collaborative mindset. The Roots lead off with a noise funk intro that sets up a 2Tone ska groove. The lyrics have a repetitive power, driven by Costello’s sneer. Lines like, “Will you wash away our sins/ In the cross-fire and cross-currents/ As you uncross your fingers/ And take out some insurance,” demonstrate how his phrasing naturally reflects the rhythmic complexity of a rap to fit with the Roots’ backing. The modern production style emphasizes the beat while the band references Costello’s past use of ska, like in “Watching The Detectives” (My Aim Is True, 1977). Horn stabs, guitar chank and reverberating echoes and fills offer plenty of interesting detail without over-crowding the track.

In addition to “Walk Us UPTOWN”, Wise Up Ghost often alludes to Costello’s musical past, but his wide range of styles and influences means that the songs have no problem finding unique angles. “TRIPWIRE” blatantly steals much of its melody from “Satellite” (Spike, 1989), but the Burt Bacharach style ballad features new veiled lyrics that make a plea for tolerance. Another track, “SUGAR Won’t Work”, blends band approaches, with a chorus that falls in line with Costello’s earlier work interpreting R&B and verses that could have been lifted from a Charlie Hunter jazz-funk session. The album closes out on a soft piano ballad, “If I Could Believe”. After the darkness and misanthropy of many of the preceding tracks, Costello’s vulnerable delivery is a poignant ending.

Supported by the apparitions of his creative history, Costello dominates Wise Up Ghost, but the Roots played a strong role in summoning these spirits. The album has a vitality that reflects a good artistic partnership, where risks were taken and everyone was challenged. Fans will find plenty of what they love about Costello or the Roots, along with new facets to enjoy.

(This review first appeared on Spectrum Culture)

Recording review - Jack White, Blunderbuss (2012)

Scattershot collection finds a flow into darkness

Jack White fancies himself an enigma, building a gloom-obsessed stage persona that contrasts with his matter-of-fact attitude during interviews. At his best, he plays testicular, retro rock ‘n’ roll with a wicked edge of discord, even as he waxes eloquently on the simple beauty of roots music. He’s polished this contradictory image so long, that it’s become predictable. But White overcomes this pretentious posing with strong chops and a distinctive creative sense.

Blunderbuss counts as his first official solo album, but three successful bands (The White Stripes, The Raconteurs, and The Dead Weather) and extensive production experience provided plenty of preparation. In a risky move, he's crammed in a little bit of everything he loves. The net effect is a cracked mirror reflection of White's musical personality; bluesy rock, classic rock 'n' roll, folk turns, mild psychedelia, and theatrical artifice each find moments in the spotlight. In the hands of a lesser artist, this scattershot collection would collapse into a muddle, but his producer's ear serves him well. He smooths the stylistic shifts and creates a coherent flow. That's particularly impressive given that the line up changes on each track, drawing players from a pool of studio musicians.

Led Zeppelin's classic sound continues to provide inspiration for White's vocals and many of the arrangements, from the hard driving "Sixteen Saltines" to the paisley folk rock of "Blunderbuss". But the path he takes to get from one to the other is all his own. The two tracks in between, "Freedom At 21" and "Love Interruption", toss out a "Seven Nation Army" style riff and soulful fatalism respectively, but each transition makes perfect sense.

The latter half of Blunderbuss is assembled in matched pairs of songs, which changes the dynamic from the first five tracks. The two weaker pairs are the piano-heavy tracks that feel overly melodramatic and the folky tunes, which need more of an edge. These are more than balanced by the solid cover of Little Willie John's "I'm Shakin'" and the honky tonk blues rock of "Trash Tongue Talker".

The album closes out on a dreamy note with "Take Me With You When You Go". The first half of the track sways with a mellow violin and organ that recall the lazy San Francisco jams of It's a Beautiful Day. The chill vibe seems a little out of character for White, but with a sucker punch transition, it shifts into a frantic Led Zepplin III sound. The relaxed drift is gone and song sprints forward. White ties the two halves together in neat package to close out the song.

Compared to the stripped down power of the White Stripes, Blunderbuss is lush and layered, but it taps into the same raw imagery that White favors. His relationship metaphors are invariably tied to cruelty and betrayal, whether it's the idea that love should "walk right up and bite me/ grab a hold of me and fight me" or the woman who "cut off the bottoms of my feet, made me walk on salt." Looking into that darkness, his music continues to find catharsis.

Recording review - The Soft Moon, Zeros (2012)

Darkwave updated with modern electronics

Imagine an alternate reality where Factory Records didn’t implode in 1992 but instead carried their trademark sound forward to the present day, a timeline where the darkwave sounds of Joy Division, New Order and Bauhaus matured and incorporated modern electronic music. The Soft Moon recorded Zeros with more than half an ear listening to that world’s music.

These songs resonate with the purest sonic elements of that classic, mid-80s period. The stark, treble toned drum sounds are filtered through the same tight reverb that adds its own touch of distortion. The bass lines have the same gaunt, hollowed out tone. Luis Vasquez even catches a lot of the same retro synthesizer sounds. More than that, Vasquez seems tapped into a similar dark headspace where the staccato beat and choppy bass create a Gothic misery. Philistines may hear the echoes of that period’s pretentious excess, but The Soft Moon never wallows in gloomy self-indulgence.

Despite the obvious reverence that the band holds for that era, they add their own twists, such as applying a modern production aesthetic and blending in a touch of Motorik drive. On "Machines", the droning synth and looped drum machine are pure Krautrock, but the bass riff sounds like it was lifted from an early New Order track. In a contemporary move, The Soft Moon turns away from period simplicity and layers in a full assortment of synth accents with a sharply stereo mix. The vocals are processed and low, so the words can’t be discerned but the alienation comes through.

With a touch of Bauhaus flair, "Insides" sets up a strong contrast between a pensive, controlled surface and chaotic depths. It feels like spying on the mind of a stalker. The bass and beat are purposeful and threatening, but the suggestive vocals lurk like an inner voice and the sharp, repeated notes signal a barely repressed tension. As the synth adds some more piercing tones, it’s a tasty frisson of fear that draws the song closer to action.

It is good, though, that Zeros doesn’t dwell completely in the past. "Die Life" starts with a venomous synth stab that creates an immediate tension. This intro transitions into a mechanically percussive groove. When that drops back to make room for the threatening vocals, the bass and drums still sound darkwave, but the speedier tempo leans more towards urgency than gloom. Sandpaper scratches, whirring and grinding machinery and electrical pulses interlock to weave a modern electronic rhythm.

A few songs later, the band once again relies on a complex Motorik beat for "Want". But this time the band ties the steady drive to a choppy, electronic sounding bass and creates a hypnotic trance feel. Dueling stereo percussion riffs set up a drop out break that could have used more space, but like the song says, “I want it/ Can’t have it.” A droning note comes in and climbs steadily, preparing for a climax. The sudden end of the track resolves nothing.

Little thwarted expectations like that make Zeros a more interesting album. The Soft Moon uses the dark proto post punk and Krautrock to make a statement, but they’re talking to their peers, not the past. Or maybe they’re just connecting with a parallel universe.

(This review originally appeared on Spectrum Culture)

September Singles

From dark to light, September offers several cool tracks.

JIP - Shudder (from Sparks, Flames, and Names)



Jim Gwynne and his band JIP just released their latest EP, Sparks, Flame, and Names. The running theme is about breaking up, but the band took an interesting approach and made each song a collaboration with a different featured artist. This gives the EP an eclectic feel.

My favorite track, Shudder has a delicious dark tension. Joanna Stanielun (Half Moon Mad) has a languid tone that promises trouble and excitement in equal measure. She sounds like a cross between Alannah Myles (Black Velvet) and Exene Cervenka. The interplay between Gwynne and Stanielun is powerful. "Every time I relapse / You leave me to shudder."

Drop by JIB's audio page to hear more.

Pony Boy - Not In This Town



With her smoky alt-Western sound, Pony Boy (Marchelle Bradanini) saunters through the darkness. Twangy, jarring, and low-fi, the music for Not In This Town is compelling. The metallic taste of Tom Waits' skewed musical aesthetic and the discordant guitar solo are warning signs, but Pony Boy's breathy whisper in my ear is confident that she'll pull us all in.


The Luyas - Fifty Fifty (from Animator, due October 16)

Photo credit: Richard Lam

Moving away from this month's dark side, The Luyas have a new single, Fifty Fifty. It's too uptempo to qualify as dreamy, but Jessie Stein's vocals have an ethereal tone. The song begins as a solid danceable pop. The guitars and keys are thickly varnished with reverb, taking away some of the edge. Near the end, the drums drop out and then the song drifts into an ambient haze, reaching towards the atmospheric sound the band loves.

The Luyas new album, Animator is due out next month on Dead Oceans.

The Orb (ft. Lee Scratch Perry) - Golden Clouds (from The Orbserver in the Star House)



The Orb's Little Fluffy Clouds was a beautiful, trippy groove. Designed for the dance floor with a solid groove, it channeled the directed spaciness of Krautrock. Golden Clouds is not so much a remix, but a reinvention. The Orb's Alex Paterson and Thomas Fehlmann connected with reggae statesman Lee Scratch Perry. Perry's vocals, rhythms, and sense of dub served as an inspiration for a whole album of material, The Orbserver in the Star House.

Golden Clouds is more focused than its parent, but no less hypnotic. Where Ricki Lee Jones' vocal sample in the original was spacy, Perry's voice is like a trip sitter, guiding the flow of the song.

After you enjoy this, you should check out Golden Clouds 81 Neutronz Mix on PopMatters. With heavier electronic processing to take the track into dubstep territory, it's yet another ripple from the Orb.

CD review - Ducky, The Whether EP (2012)

Unsettled and unsettling, Ducky's electronica evokes darkness and tension

Moody is not a strong enough word. Like soundtracks to David Lynchian film clips, the songs on The Whether sound like they're under glass. A thick layer separates the music from mundane reality. Nothing is quite as it's supposed to be. Unsettled and unsettling, Ducky's production digs its way under your skin. Her lazy vocals are nice, but the loops and processing are phenomenal.

The standout track is the eerie I Want to Die. Cut up vocal samples and looped background create a horrorshow tension. It's an uncomfortable thrill. Ducky's languid vocals sound detached, yet threatening.

Wake up, start the day
Anger lives inside of me
Tempt me, no I won't
Cause beauty lives inside your bones

A mild dubstep throb adds a psychotic distance...or is it a drugged disconnect? It seems like it should be emotionally charged, but the production drains that engagement leaving a sense of tension and a memory that's never quite grasped.

Ducky's electronic palette is smeared with lazy beats, club sparkles, and electro pop dreaminess, but her muse leads her into a darker headspace. Masochism, soul, and surrender all find a home here.

Drop by thewhetherep.com to see her video interpretations of the tracks or download
Overdose, whose groove is anchored by the looped sound of a retro AM radio as sampled vocalizations ping pong in the background.

CD review - Royal Baths, Better Luck Next Life (2012)

Dark children of Velvet Underground offer lo-fi deathrock psychedelia

Better Luck Next Life is a soundtrack to a wicked rite, summoning spirits to stalk among us. In particular, the spirits of Lou Reed, John Cale, and the rest of Velvet Underground. Royal Baths' detuned, distorted sound is haunted by Lou Reed style vocals, a touch of Reed's droning guitar, and chaotic abandon.

This is no tribute band, though. Royal Baths may push their garage rock psychedelia into V.U. head space, but they always hold back from the Velvet Underground's total sonic surrender. This gives their songs a deeper self awareness and intent.

On Burned, they sound like throbbing, percolating darkness. The track starts with a sound somewhere between Syd Barrett era Pink Floyd and acid etched rock. During the bridge, the guitar vibrates like a fork in the fan blades, recalling European Son. At the same time, the singing balances two voices filled with detachment. As the relentless Bo Diddley beat spasms like a restless leg, the strange ecstatic rite builds. I love the intensity of the sound, as the guitars clash and flail.

Most of the tracks have a sonic immediacy, like Royal Baths is playing right in the room. This fits well with the retro feel of the album.

Better Luck Next Life works hard to maintain its very dark vibe, occasionally even veering towards creepy. Where Velvet Underground flaunted their drug and S&M to shock listeners, Royal Baths is more direct, sometimes raising a kind of sociopathic evil in their transgressive lyrics. Even when the sound suggests a trippy ecstasy, the lyrics skew towards more sinister subjects.

Take Black Sheep: the song starts somewhere between Bauhaus and the music from Dr. Who before establishing a trippy, psychedelic verse. The vocals ping pong, splitting the lines:

I grew up rather well off -- raising hell
I gave up faking gratitude -- can't you tell?
My good friends seem to bore me -- don't ask me why
One by one, my lovers leave me --I never cry

The lyrics quickly grow more malevolent. But Royal Baths take it further. Eventually Black Sheep, along with a few other songs, push the deathrock themes too earnestly, drifting towards parody:

Bloody landscapes are my daydreams -- bodies fall
If I could touch the hem of Satan -- I would crawl

Despite loving the music, I think Royal Baths is trying too hard to shock, to the detriment of their songs.

Still, there are plenty of evocative tracks like Harder, Faster. The languid, swaying beat and the underwater Doors groove create a moody, late night feel. The repetitive bass line throbs like insomnia while the slide guitar sounds like the foggy swirl of voices in your head. The sexual focus of the lyrics matches the hypnotic haze of the music.

Royal Baths may be soaked in darkness and tension, but the jangle of guitars offer a cathartic release, as well.

Essay - The Sweet Taste of Darkness

Make a joyful noise. The world is full of cheery uplifting tunes. Flip the coin and find a multitude blues and songs full of emo moaning. Something for everyone. Maybe so, but the songs that have made a big impact on me are the dark ones that offer a less comfortable truth.

Not death metal's upside down morality or simplistic punk nihilism...rather a revealing glimpse at a world that isn't perfect. This set of songs have each triggered a recognition in me and changed my view in a way that opened me to the complexity of our real world.

If you share my taste for this kind of darkness, you probably have your own list, but here's mine.

The Velvet Underground - Heroin (The Velvet Underground and Nico)

I remember the first moment I heard this song in a mall record store. I was transfixed by the bare staccato strum of guitar and simple beat, but it was Lou Reed's helpless sense of confusion that connected with my seventeen year old brain: Yeah, and I guess, that I just don't know.

Listening to the words and realizing that it's a literal love song to heroin was delightfully shocking, but the music added another layer. The song breaths in increasing tempos of tension but always exhales a release. Each wave of the song builds organically until it reaches a frayed rush of jangled noise. The final resolution into the calming fade of mildly distorted guitar is a benediction.

More than just heroin, this is a song about obsession, confusion, brief satisfaction, and constant searching.

David Bowie - Sweet Thing/Candidate (Diamond Dogs)

This is a tightly choreographed section on Diamond Dogs. Sweet Thing has a lush, yet detached sound. Bowie stretches out on vocals, going from Thin White Duke to an almost operatic screech. There's an opiated irony in his delivery and the free format between the choruses contributes to the lazy feel. Bowie even gets coquettish: I'm glad that you're older than me/It makes me feel important and free.

The instrumental end of Sweet Thing slides into Candidate without a break. And the mood is shifts casually into tension and threat. The tempo picks up, drops the lushness, and adds more discordant moments. When Candidate references the same chorus lines, Bowie gives them a smirk. If Sweet Thing has a golden glow, then this song is cold, weak moonlight.

Neither song succeeds on its own, but together, they form a yin/yang: everything has a dark secret within.

Die Toten Hosen - Böser Wolf (Opium fürs Volk)

I debated including this since it's in German, but it's another song that made a big impression on me. The Toten Hosen came out of the German punk scene but, as this song shows, they've expanded musically quite a bit. True to their anti-establishment roots, the Toten Hosen have never played polite games and ignored uncomfortable truths, both social and political.

Böser Wolf is one of their more controversial songs. The title translates to "Big, Bad Wolf". The music starts with a simple, sweet chiming melody that underlies the entire song. Without listening to the lyrics, the music on the verses is pretty, but wistful. The chorus picks up some low strings and turns threatening. Throughout, Campino's voice effortlessly adds the right tension and sly innuendo.

Even without understanding the words, it's easy to pick up on the mood. The lyrics tell a heartbreaking story of child abuse. Couched in a child's perception, it's not explicit, but it strikes deeper because of that: She likes to paint pictures of herself and giant men in a dwarf world. She knows stories that she never tells. Most of them she's experienced herself. It's brutally effective because the mild detachment rings all the more true.

Tori Amos - God (Under the Pink)

Tori Amos has based an artistic career on confronting a world's injustice and placing it in the context of her own self examination. God takes her Creator to task for His shortcomings. God, sometimes you just don't come through.

Complimenting Him on his daisies and calling Him out for the evils in the world, Amos' tone is more condescension than bitterness. On the basis of the lyrics alone, this would merely serve as another atheist's complaint. But the music adds a subtext.

The song is built on a tightly syncopated, funky groove that rolls inexorably forward. At the same time, God is scattered with jangled, distorted guitars that sound like angry seagulls fighting for scraps. The contrasting parts showcase Amos' own ambivalence. Is she repressing her rage against the unfairness of an aloof God? Is she a little aghast at her own blasphemy? Or is it just the primitive snake brain buried within her psyche?

Umar Bin Hassan - Niggers Are Scared of Revolution (Be Bop or Be Dead)

Umar Bin Hassan has been a strong voice in the Last Poets, a band from the late '60s that was one of the roots of hip-hop. Like Gil Scott-Heron, the Last Poets combined poetry, music, and politics to create some great art. Niggers Are Scared of Revolution was originally released on the Last Poets eponymous first album. I prefer the version Hassan released on his solo album, Be Bop or Be Dead, in the mid-'90s. His flow is more expressive and it shows that he had not lost his indignation or his oratory abilities.

The song stridently calls out the Black community for getting distracted from political action. Hassan's preaching rhythm and repetition hammer home his point while slipping in sharp observation:

Niggers are actors, ooh niggers are actors
Niggers act like they're in a hurry to catch the first act of the Great White Hope
Niggers try to act like Malcolm did,
But when the White Man doesn't react toward them like he did Malcolm
Niggers won't act violently
Niggers act so cool and slick
Causing white people to say, "what makes them niggers act that way?"

Each verse riffs off a different initial phrase ("niggers are players...", "niggers shoot..."). Hassan's frustration builds, but in the last verse ("niggers are lovers"), he rejects any charge of self-directed race hatred. He loves the sinner but hates the sin.

This song is powerful because it confronts stereotypes and doesn't shy away from ugliness. Hassan's charged language and repetition bounces from cajoling to ranting to resignation, but keeps moving.

Michael Franti - Positive (Live from the Baobab)

Live From the Baobab is Michael Franti's live solo album. It covers a fair amount of material he's performed with his band,Spearhead, and offers a more intimate and immediate feel. Positive originally appeared on the Spearhead album, Home, but this version is starker.

Raw, spoken word poetry tells the story about a man in love, who's finally decided to get tested for HIV. Franti's flow captures the man's thoughts and experiences as he goes into the clinic and later has to wait for the results. "But how am I going to live my life if I am positive, is it going to be a negative?"

Worrying over risks taken and the scary implications of a positive result, Franti channels this mindset. Loops of thought circle around, unable to resolve in the waiting. Similarly, the song stays open ended, without the test result to exonerate or castigate the central figure. The lack of sentimentality, preachiness, or judgement keep Positive from becoming a cheap PSA.