By JEFFREY S. SOLOCHEK, WADE TATANGELO and JULIE GARISTO
Published November 23, 2003
SARAH MCLACHLAN, AFTERGLOW (ARISTA) The smooth-voiced chanteuse brings us her first studio recording in six years and picks up musically pretty much where she left off. Fans of McLachlan's introspective balladry should not be disappointed with her latest mix of sad, soul-searching tunes, from the first single, Fallen, on through to the 10th track.
Written on piano rather than her usual guitar, the collection of songs explores the roller coaster of emotions McLachlan has endured in recent years, from the loss of her mother to the birth of her baby. The lyrics are often poetic, though sometimes they slip into the trite.
Perhaps most disappointing, there's no standout song that crowds will chant for at concerts to come.
But in the world of mellow music, where the best sound is the one that nicely fills the background (or else puts you into a deep trance), Afterglow hits its mark. The CD will play well at coffee bars, spas and, dare we say, bedrooms for some time to come. Grade: Zzzzzz. For fans: B
- JEFFREY S. SOLOCHEK, Times staff writer
RODNEY CROWELL, FATE'S RIGHT HAND (DMZ/EPIC) "In life's rich beauty pageant we put children on a stage - Sell sex like cotton candy to young and old alike," laments Rodney Crowell on It's a Different World Now, a track from his potent new release, Fate's Right Hand.
It's a different world now, indeed, Mr. Crowell.
On Fate's Right Hand the veteran singer/songwriter/producer, and single father of four daughters says he was "attempt(ing) to articulate the day by day task of dealing with the uncertainty of a clouded future and the sorrow of a botched past."
The results are often compelling.
Fate's Right Hand is, in many respects, a sequel to Crowell's 2001 release, The Houston Kid, a stirring song cycle concerning the singer's troubled youth spent in the grimy "shadow of the Astrodome." His current release uses the same ear-friendly fusion of rock, folk and country to humorous ("Ken Starr word man we're talking absurd/Spending $40-million just to give a man the bird") and poignant effect.
Even Crowell's worst clunkers, such as "We used up mother nature like a $20 whore," are nearly salvaged by the measured conviction he brings to each line. B+
- WADE TATANGELO, Times correspondent
OBIE TRICE, CHEERS (SHADY RECORDS/INTERSCOPE) The Eminem show continues with Cheers, the much-hyped debut disc by the hip-hop king's latest protege, Obie Trice.
Unlike the multiplatinum Get Rich or Die Trying by 50 Cent (Em and Dr. Dre's first Shady Records signee), Trice's Cheers has Em taking producer and/or a writing credit on nearly every track. The juvenile humor of the teen-friendly Got Some Teeth even borrows the infectious bass line that fueled Eminem's 2002 smash Without Me and features Trice aping the Slim Shady persona.
This is a great way to move units, but it's not the kind of work that wins an artist lasting respect. The gangsta's gangsta, 50 Cent, could shoulder Em and Dre's shadow and pull the spotlight to himself. (Just like Em did on his own, forceful, Dre-produced debut album.) But Trice, armed with only humble everyman 'hood tales and above-average delivery chops, fails to emerge with his own strong identity. He leaves listeners with spectacularly sticky beats, courtesy of Em, Dre and the ubiquitous Timbaland (most famous for making Missy Elliott's rhymes so listenable) and Trice's less-than-sensational flows. Halfway through the disc I found myself wishing Eminem would just grab the mike and use the Cheers beats to clear his own "shady" mind. C+
- W.T.
CENTRO-MATIC, LOVE YOU JUST THE SAME (MISRA) Centro-matic front man Will Johnson may be the most misunderstood and underheard musical genius of the decade. Somewhere amid oblivion, paroxysms of praise and smarmy indie-critic drek lies the truth, and it seems that Johnson may be the only one in on it.
A songwriter first and foremost, the Texan engages in wordplays that gently snowball into allegories of war, industry and the human spirit. Johnson's thematic thread of underdogs and battles expound on personal struggles that go way beyond the obvious. So, those trying to decipher Marxist propaganda or label Johnson a working class hero a la Billy Bragg should get their good-listener license revoked. With a singular rasp that distresses an unbelievable vocal range, he sings of "words scratched in new cement."
His band matches Johnson's ragtag brilliance well, combining rock 'n' roll melody, raw percussion, lo-fi textures and dramatic distortions that sound alternately epic and spare. The only drawback may be that the album loses some punch about halfway through. But the overall effect of Love You Just the Same is dynamic superheroism, with Johnson's humanity beaming above it all. A-
