The Roots - The Tipping Point
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THE ROUGH GUIDE TO SALSA COLOMBIA
(World Music Network import)
By limiting itself to unwaveringly commercial Discos Fuentes product, this avoids not just folk and jazz but tropical ballads, because Discos Fuentes is old-fashioned enough to think commercial means danceable. Whether from veterans going back to the '50s or the Fania wannabes the label launched in the '70s or the revivalists of the '90s, the sinewy clave is locally inflected and the rhythms always take off. These are not famous names internationally, although Joe Arroyo and Fruko and Los Titanes may deserve to be. But everybody shares a commitment to the basics of salsa dura—and that collective thrust, not individual twists, is what keeps the pulse racing. A MINUS
BEASTIE BOYS
To the 5 Boroughs
(Capitol)
Don't let the hipsters scare you away. "An Open Letter to NYC" is as inarticulate as most love letters, so hackneyed Mike D could be gunning for an October engagement at Yankee Stadium. But from "We've got a president we didn't elect" to "It's time we looked past all our differences," many clichés here are worth recycling, as with the black (sounding) hype man who reinforces the one about differences with a faint but unmistakable "that's fresh fresh, for a Jewboy, Jewboy, Jewboy." As much as Jay-Z, and with more jokes, the Beasties are masters of their sound, of which this is the old-school variant. Like the Catskill shticksters they honor, they crack wise as naturally as John Hurt drawled, only with a better sense of rhythm (than the shticksters). They sound sharp-witted even when they mouth homilies. They sound like the reason uppity Queens boys used to think the 7 train was bound for Jordan. A MINUS
MADVILLAIN
Madvillainy
(Stones Throw)
No noticeable structure a dozen plays in—just a glorious phantasmagoria of flow. Give them time and Madlib's 22 bits and pieces in 46 minutes seem not just catchy but inevitable—press shuffle at your peril, although "Curls" and "Accordion" hold their own. As for Doom, well: "One scary night I saw the light/Heard a voice like Barry White/ Said, 'Sure you're right.' " To emulate neither Barry White, the voice means, nor the kind of quick thinker who normally rhymes "fine, G," "hiney," "Chinee," "shiny," and "pine tree." Instead Doom sounds slow, probably because he's stoned. He loves rhyme so much that the only universe that suits him is one where a gutter ball leads straight to a butterball—and that is a stoned universe. A MINUS
MODEST MOUSE
Good News for People Who Love Bad News
(Epic)
Weathered now, their herky-jerk stands up smartly to interjections from the Dirty Dozen Brass Band. They've outgrown Bukowski if not drifters and scored a video hit in which they back into a police car without penalty, bitch proactively here and shrug passively there, and—good for them—can't resist the old trope of sampling a baby's cry onto a song. Why am I certain one of them fathered the baby? Ah, bittersweet mystery of life. A MINUS
OZOMATLI
Street Signs
(Concord)
In which the agitating L.A. salsa-rap collective vanquishes the tendency of rock en español's constituent parts to stick out like tree roots or TV antennas. Arab sounds from Hassan Hakmoun to dancehall diwali articulate Hispanic music's Moorishness when we need it most, yet fit right in, and the horns on "Déjame en Paz" could be ska or some Mexican ur-polka. Everything jumps, which makes the Iberian romanticism of the closing "Cuando Canto" easier to take—though it helps that, as usual with these guys, the romanticism has a political purpose, which starts with their people and radiates outward. A MINUS
EDDIE PALMIERI
Ritmo Caliente
(Concord)
Like Milton Nascimento and Astor Piazzolla, Palmieri enjoys the prestige based on his pretensions as well as his talent. Check 1974's pivotal The Sun of Latin Music and notice how many bases it touches. To list the obvious, there's a full-fledged suite; pianistics that recall Monk, Tyner, even Cecil Taylor; a snatch of Abbey Road; a conga workout; a salsa tour; a simple cumbia arted up with a bass-and-piano break; and—crucially—enough cheese. Times having changed, this equally far-reaching album seems less epochal (and is definitely less cheesy). But I insist that its intrinsic musicality equals if not exceeds that of The Sun of Latin Music, and suspect that it's one of Palmieri's best. The impressionistic "Tema para Renée" is an art move; so is the graceful and audacious "Gigue (Bach Goes Bat)." But in general the old man nails the good old three-and-two through a panoply of variations. You may recall that Palmieri likes to dust off his chops with a ruminative exordium. Here it's his pride to state the beat. A MINUS
THE ROOTS
The Tipping Point
(Geffen)
Foolhardy though it was to saddle such an uncrucial record with a title that dares the young and the restless to bitch about how it doesn't change the world, the rest of us are free to enjoy how confidently it develops a groove. Theme-setting Sly remake leads to varied confluences of democracy and Black Thought (try the hummed and mumbled hook of "Don't Say Nuthin' ") that swing up at the end through two attention getters certain to dismay the restless—Timbabeats, how 2003! Then, to remind us they're a hip-hop band, there's a bonus cut for their sole virtuoso —which means ?uestlove, not Kamal. They understand what they can do, and what they can't. That's 2004 enough for me. A MINUS
THE WILLOWZ
(Dionysus)
Old enough to vote, too young to barhop, they spend most of these eight brief songs trying desperately to catch up with themselves, and their occasional collapse into the breathy/slow/acoustic is doubly touching by contrast. It's easier to get a grip on your future when you have time to live in it for a while. Punker than the Ponys, and even more childish, but just as vulnerable. Maybe youth is feeling fragile these days. Maybe it's afraid its headlong rush is not long for this world. A MINUS
Dud of the Month
JUANA MOLINA
Tres Cosas
(Domino)
With Argentina well over on the European edge of "Latin"—which is mostly African whatever its Spanish antecedents—it's no surprise that this reformed television actress should trick up her boring strummed singer-songwritering with not terribly interesting electronica. With the market for both modes desperate for marginal differentiation, it's also no surprise that she gets a bump for being exotic if not literally dark-skinned. Needless to say, there are no surprises anywhere else either. That really isn't how soundscaping is supposed to work. C
Additional Consumer News
Honorable Mention
THE HIVES
Tyrannosaurus Hives
Interscope
Don't care about "going down no in no history," thus wiser than those who think it matters that they won't (only they may) ("Walk Idiot Walk," "No Pun Intended").
OLD 97'S
Drag It Up
New West
The new kids have Rhett feeling down ("Moonlight," "The New Kid," "Bloomingtown").
THE ROUGH GUIDE TO AFRO-PERU
World Music Network import
David Byrne didn't tell us how many males this tiny scene stars (Manuel Donayre, "Negro Carbon"; Arturo "Zambo" Cavero & Oscar Aviles, "El Alcatraz").
BURNT SUGAR
The Arkestra Chamber: Black Sex Yall Liberation and Bloody Random Violets
Trugroid
I wish Tate edited his music like he edits his copy (which doesn't mean perfectly, believe me) ("Funky Rich Medina," "No Direction Home I").
FRANZ FERDINAND
Domino
Young enough to only work when they need the money, a musical tradition worth fighting for ("Michael," "Jacqueline").
MERCAN DEDE
Sufi Traveler
Mi5
Won't upset your stomach as it heals your soul ("Nar-1 Ask," "Guilname").
CHUMBAWAMBA
Un
Koch
"Pissing in the wine, pissing in the wine" ("When Fine Society Sits Down to Dine," "On eBay").
THE ROUGH GUIDE TO PUERTO RICAN SALSA
World Music Network import
Progger and/or blander and/or folkier than anyone but a world-music sap would prefer (Willie Colón & Héctor Lavoe, "Todo Tiene Su Final"; Jose Alberto, "El Canario,"...
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