Released Today: The Who's "Endless Wire"

Every Sunday in your St. Pete Times, you'll find not only a picture of my fat head, but a new music column in our Latitudes section. The point of this weekly feature is to recommend three or four new albums in a breezy, easy-to-read format (unlike my normal labyrinthine prose). I've been trying to theme columns: Last week was country; the inaugural was Brit-rockers. As hard-core criticism goes, this is more cotton-candy than usual. But in the future, I'll recommend obscure, under-the-radar releases, which might make more sense. Anyway, here's quickies of the Who and Sting...

The Who

Album: Endless Wire (Universal Republic)

In stores: Oct. 31

Why we care: Father Time has whittled the quartet down to frontman Roger Daltrey and guitar god Pete Townshend -- but on the band's first studio album since '82, the Who still sound BIG.

Why we like it: At 60-plus years old, the rock pugilists summon brains and brawn, poetry and punch. The themes are heavy-duty (love, loss), and Townshend even throws in a mini rock opera, Wire & Glass, which might be about rock stardom. Or maybe it's about insanity? I was too busy air-guitaring and marveling at Daltrey's vocal gusto to follow nutty plot lines.

Reminds us of: Extended remixes of Baba O'Riley and Won't Get Fooled Again -- Townshend, who wrote all of the 19 tracks, uses patches of previous greatness to illustrate the passage of time.

Download these: Mike Post Theme, Pick Up the Peace

Sting

Album: Songs From the Labyrinth (Deutsche Grammophon)

In stores: Now

Why we care: Rock's pedagogical hunk "discovers the music of Elizabethan songwriter John Dowland." Sounds like a 16th century snooze? Hold on . . .

Why we like it: What could have turned into a Monty Python skit is quietly powerful, as the former Policeman turns Dowland's prose into hymnal glory.

Reminds us of: Midnight Mass

Download these: Flow My Tears, Have You Seen the Bright Lily Grow

What's In Sean's Mailbox: Killing Nemo

The Forever Fiancee had the fam in town this weekend, so we hauled ’em out to the Florida Aquarium on Sunday. Everything was going swimmingly -- until Kid Lulu, my 3-year-old daughter, chucked her pink-and-yellow binky into a pristine, fish-stuffed tank dedicated to the shores of Tampa Bay. PLUNK! “Uh, oh, Daddy!” the little blonde demon chirped as a giant, grey catfish-looking sucker started nibbling…nibbling…oh crap. We frantically flagged down a biologist, but the worried woman said “those fish ingest everything.” We felt terrible. My daughter's first kill! I'm pretty sure this is how Dahmer started.

As a punishment for my shoddy parenting, the music gods gifted me with a thin assortment of CDs this morning…

Brooke Hogan -- Undiscovered
Pitbull -- El Mariel

Brad Paisley -- Brad Paisley Christmas

Elvis Presley -- Elvis Christmas

Various Artists -- Now That’s What I Call Christmas 3 (2CD)

Depeche Mode -- Touring the Angel: Live in Milan
Bounty Killer -- Nah No Mercy: The Warlord Scrolls
Sick Puppies -- Sick Puppies
Rachael Ray -- Too Cool for School: Mixtape for Kids

SHAMELESS PLUG: Daly Live

This Saturday, my toupee and I will be appearing at the Times Festival of Reading on the campus of the University of South Florida, St. Petersburg. I'll be telling tall tales, dodging rotten apples and firing back at Axl Rose fans from 1:30-2:15 at USF Davis Hall Rm 130. As a bonus, I'll tell the story of using John Mellencamp's bathroom and the shocking repercussions thereof.

If you have nothing better to do, click here for more information.

Guns N' Bleepin' Roses

TAMPA — If I were Axl Rose (and I thank the lord every day that I'm not), I would do something truly rock-star grotesque on the current Guns N' Roses tour.

Like cancel upcoming Canadian shows due to "sanitary reasons." Or insult Johnny Cash.
Or brain someone with a microphone stand.

'Cause at a time when rock 'n' roll is a safe, solemn universe desperate for a dangerous star, one of the most volatile frontmen in history now seems so...safe, solemn.

Xanaxed.

Don't get me wrong: Rose, who brought his makeshift rock band to the St. Pete Times Forum Wednesday, can still be a pain in the tuchus. He disapproved media and photographer credentials at the last minute. His show started at midnight and didn't end until 2, sending many of the 10,522 fans home early. And the attendance was lower than it should have been, mainly because Axl is a classic no-show.

Most glaring of all, I still blame the 44-year-old nutter for breaking up the original lineup: guitar legend Slash, charismatic bassist Duff et al. Instead, Axl has opted for a backing band that can rock and rock hard, but doesn't know the first thing about living on the edge.

And edge — that intangible rock-star quality of instability and excitement — is what Axl and the Gunners are missing these days. (No, his recent scuffle with that dope Tommy Hilfiger doesn't count as edge. That's just good sense.)

Was Wednesday's show entertaining? You bet. When the house lights finally dimmed and Slash replacement Robin Finck (of Nine Inch Nails) picked out the opening lick of Welcome to the Jungle, I felt like I was 17 again, listening to jaw-dropping blues-metal brilliance that is 1987's Appetite for Destruction.

Axl has been famously reclusive for almost 13 years, so he's rather well-preserved in a Howard Hughesian amber. He's a bit thicker in the torso now, and those unfortunate corn-rows make him look like a rasta leprechaun, but the guy can still slither-dance all over the stage and dutifully bring you to your n-n-n-n-knees.

And although his high-holy wail took a little while to warm up (the band was playing over him at first, perhaps on purpose), on the final chorus of Knockin' on Heaven's Door, he reared back and fired a doozy, a rageful, punky shriek that time-traveled two decades.

It's weird to accuse someone of being professional, but that's what Axl Rose has become: an efficient showman. After an explosive cover of Live and Let Die, he greeted us like a game-show host: "Hello, Tampa. It's very, very, very nice to be here." He gave faithful, loving renditions of all the hits: Sweet Child O' Mine, You Could Be Mine, Patience and an epic November Rain, the latter of which he played on a baby grand.

Throughout, he was efficient and sweet and normal. When bassist Tommy Stinson (of the Replacements) made a whispered request, Axl even obliged with "a love ballad": the murderously funny Used to Love Her. His new songs from the umpteen-years-in-the-making Chinese Democracy album (out any day now....really!) were even tame, save for Better, which has legit switchblade edge.

It was all perfectly fist-pumping and ear-ringing. But I must be honest: When Axl invited opening act Sebastian Bach to duet on My Michelle, I was secretly hoping he'd bash the Skid Row singer in the head.

You know, just for old-time's sake.

Best Halloween Songs: Part Two

To the left, you'll find a picture of me dressed as Magnum P.I. Everything is in place for the perfect Halloween costume: the 'stache, the Tigers hat, the shades, the muscles, the sheepish boy-meets-man smirk, the chest hair which I had to glue on. The only thing missing is the red Ferrari, but if you squint, my champagne Mazda looks kinda fast.

For some reason, though, my Mag costume is failing miserably this year. "Uh, are you a tourist?" some bleeping bonehead asked me when I walked into his stinkin' Halloween bash last weekend. "Wait, I got it: You're Tony Soprano!" Tony Soprano? What, 'cause I'm fat? Finally, a lovely neighbor wandered into the party, looked at me and said, "I wanted my husband to go as Magnum!" I coulda kissed her -- but my mustache glue was weak, and I didn't want to risk it.

Please enjoy Part II of the Michael Myers Maniac Mix:

10.) The Blob -- the Five Blobs
9.) Somebody's Watching Me -- Rockwell
8.) Bela Lugosi's Dead -- Bauhaus
7.) Sympathy for the Devil -- the Rolling Stones
6.) Weird Science -- Oingo Boingo
5.) Thriller -- Michael Jackson
4.) Pet Sematary -- the Ramones
3.) Monster Mash -- Bobby "Boris" Pickett & the Crypt-Kickers
2.) I Put a Spell on You -- Screamin' Jay Hawkins
1.) Halloween Theme -- John Carpenter

Best Halloween Songs: Part One

I scared the ever-lovin' crap outta myself last night. I stayed up late to watch both the so-sucky-it's-good Halloween III: Season of the Witch ("Five more days 'til Halloween, Halloween, Halloween...") and then Halloween II. The wind was roaring, the Forever Fiancee was snoring, and I was totally convinced there was a homicidal maniac in a William Shatner mask outside. When I looked out the window, our Halloween decorations were wind-scattered on the front lawn. But Screw the paper Frankenstein and the inflatable pumpkin. There wasn't a chance in hell I was leaving the house. Not with John Carpenter's Halloween theme pounding on TV. And definitely not with Michael Myers hiding in the backseat of my Mazda.

Tomorrow I'll tell you the story of my failed Magnum P.I. Halloween costume (albeit with an awesome fake mustache!). For now, here's the first half of my Halloween playlist -- aka the Michael Myers Maniac Mix.

20.) Bad Moon Rising -- Creedence Clearwater Revival
19.) The Headless Horseman -- Bing Crosby
18.) Bark at the Moon -- Ozzy Osbourne
17.) Shakin Shakin Shakes -- Los Lobos
16.) The Mask -- Danger Doom
15.) The Boogie Monster -- Gnarls Barkley
14.) I Was a Teenage Werewolf -- the Cramps
13.) Dead Man's Party -- Oingo Boingo
12.) House of Fun -- Madness
11.) Devil's Been Busy -- Traveling Wilburys

What's in Sean's Mailbox: She's Baaack...

Just when I thought Kellie Pickler was out of my life forever -- well, except for her infamous macrame "prom" dress picture, a tattered copy of which is taped to the sun visor in my Mazda -- Huckleberry Blonde shows up in my mailbox. Don't have time to give her record a spin today, but rest assured I'll fire off a barrage of geographically insensitive yeehaw jokes sometime later this week. (I can report that she is sadly overdressed in Western wear in her liner notes.)

Herewith, my mail...

Kellie Pickler -- Small Town Girl
Willie Nelson -- Songbird
Depeche Mode -- The Best Of Vol. 1
The Nightmare Before Christmas -- Soundtrack (remastered + bonus trax)
The Blue Van -- Dear Independence
Sparta -- Threes

FOLLOW THIS STORY: Carrie Furman

Hey gang, here's an update on Carrie Furman, the wedding singer I profiled in Floridian a few weeks ago. (Wonderboy Bob Croslin took the killer photos.) I have a feeling I'll be packing my bags for Nashville sometime in January. Finally, someone's coattails to ride...

For Fort Lauderdale wedding singer Carrie Furman, her fourth chance at television stardom just might prove the charm.

On Wednesday, the 31-year-old vocalist, who this month was profiled in the Floridian feature "The Talent Trap," received a call from the producers of Nashville Star: For the fourth consecutive year, Furman has been invited to the final round of auditions for the USA Network's country version of American Idol, to take place Nov. 1-3 at Nashville's Stage honky-tonk.

Furman, who believes weight problems have hindered her chances in the past, is the only person to make the final 50 or so contestants for four straight years. That's a dubious honor: She is also the only regional finalist to get so close and then be rejected three years running.

Perhaps for that bittersweet reason, Furman was happy about Wednesday's news but guarded as well. "I'm not even going to get my hopes up," she said. "For me, just going to Nashville will be the best." If she makes it past regionals, Furman will appear on your TV set starting in January.

BLOG BATTLE! Spandau Ballet Blows!

...but Steve Spears, that girthy New Romantic apologist over at Stuck in the '80s, just looooves those dopes in Spandau Ballet.

So to settle our brouhaha, we shall blog battle, just like in ye olden days. To our mounts!

HEREWITH, ONE (1) LONG, VITRIOLIC REASON WHY SPANDAU BALLET'S TRUE IS THE WORST SONG OF ALL TIME...

1.) 'Cause it is. Really. I've been calling True the worst song of all time ever since that pungent turd floated to the top of the punchbowl in 1983. My pals will routinely break into a wobbly, warbly True just for the knee-slapping thrill of watching my ears bleed. The ballad, the sonic equivalent of getting to third base with a wet British robot, is dull, and grating, and so incredibly wussy, especially that tru-hoo! torture at crapfest's end. Why do you "find it hard to write the next line"? 'CAUSE YOUR SONG SUCKS!

Speaking of limp-wristed dreck: Tony Hadley, the frontman for this quartet of Islington mopes, is so insincere and turgid in his tender-coo delivery, he was surely responsible for turning myriad young men, once so strong, so independent, into flimsy, female-fearing wrecks. The whole thing makes me wanna eat a steak and watch a women-in-prison marathon.

Speaking of women in prison: Steve Spears has you fooled. He cherishes True for all the wrong, dastardly reasons, the main one being that the song reminds him of his days as a high-school hound and his hairy-knuckled pursuit of wide-eyed freshman coeds. During those tru-hoo!s, NO ONE CAN HEAR YOU SCREAM!!!!

Yes, those fine young studs in Duran Duran were also New Romantics, but they were true to their shallow, shagging selves. They were in it for the money, the fame, the girls on film. "Lipstick cherry all over the lens as she's falling!" Hell, yeah, Simon!! But what nebby-poet shite does Spandau Ballet unload on the poor, spineless masses: "This is the sooound of my soul." No, no, Tony, this is the sound of Steve Spears losing yet another blog battle.

True blows. Case closed.

The Unbearable Lightness of G-ing

Kenny G fascinates me. The curiously tressed smooth-jazz king has sold 75 million albums, and yet my mother is the only person who admits to liking him. In advance of Thursday's gig at the Clearwater Jazz Holiday, I chatted with the G Man about being one of pop culture's great polarizing personalities.

Here's an excerpt from my Thursday profile:

Chomp on this, jazz snobs: Miles Davis was a Kenny G fan.

You read that right. One of the most revered trumpeters in jazz history adored one of the most reviled saxophonists. In the ’80s, Mr. G even opened shows for the famously moody “Prince of Darkness.”

“On many occasions, Miles would come into my dressing room and tell me what I was doing was great,” says the 50-year-old Kenneth Gorelick, who tonight headlines the Clearwater Jazz Holiday. “If Miles says I’m doing good, and some critics say I stink, why would I listen to them?”

Kenny is defending his art as he cruises through Los Angeles. (“When you drive in L.A., you have plenty of time to talk,” he laughs.) For a guy who has sold 75-million albums, he’s incredibly easy to reach. Mere seconds after I sent a message to his Blackberry, he called: “Hey, man, let’s chat!”

You gotta love the G Man.

Or not.

It has become fashionable of to rip and ridicule the Clearwater Jazz Holiday for not doing enough to showcase "serious" jazz. But when organizers announced that this year’s main attraction was Kenny G, whose lazy-river soprano sax style is the very definition of “smooth,” jazzbos set a new record for vitriol.

Kenny G, the haters cried, is not jazz. He’s Mantovani with a perm!

G knows the drill. Great achievement, more jokes.

(To find the rest of this story on Thursday, go here.)

What's In Sean's Mailbox: Booze 'n' Blood

Hey gang, just got back from my far-too-fast vacation to Deep Creek, Md., a raucous escape chockful of lotsa laffs, lotsa cards (ever play "Prick your Buddy"?), lotsa booze (ever have a "Liquid Cocaine" shot?) and, alas, lotsa blood.

Not one but two good pals plummeted to their almost-deaths: one buddy toppled down the tall, hard stairs at the beloved Black Bear Tavern, another buddy skidded down our long, gravelly driveway after a lengthy sojourn to the Black Bear.

Is the bar cursed? Tough to say. Because a third friend, upon returning from the Black Bear, stumbled across lawns and through forests like a Sasquatch in 1970s winter wear and yet was remarkably unscathed. Whatever the case, the annual jaunt to the Creek, although rife with controversy and bandages, remains essential to my well-being.

But now let's get back to reality. SIGH. I'm gonna be opening my two boxes of mail for a while, but here's the beginning of this week's new CD booty:

Bruce Springsteen -- The Seeger Sessions: American Land Edition
Ruben Studdard -- The Return
Rod Stewart -- Still the Same...Great Rock Classics of Our Time
Dwight Yoakam -- Guitars, Cadillacs Etc. Etc.
Alabama -- Songs of Inspiration
Xzibit -- Full Circle
George Jones & Merle Haggard -- Kickin' Out the Footlights...Again
Hannah Montana -- Hannah Montana
Mama Mia! -- 5th Anniversary Collector's Edition (+ DVD)
Lloyd Banks -- Rotten Apple
Nicole Atkins -- Bleeding Diamonds
Aerosmith -- The Very Best Of

Throwing a Wild Rumpus? Allow Me to Help...

You might want to fire up the printer for this sucker. Unless, of course, you WANT your next shindig to fail miserably...

Sometime this weekend -- after six too many Bullfrogs at our palacial lodge in Deep Creek, Maryland, after my ceremonial Sean-in-lingerie let's-question-his-sexuality-again hot tub dive, after the collective discomfort of seeing me in a crotchless body stocking has receded -- I'll fire up my iPod and unleash the Greatest Party Mix of All Time (GPMOAT), an eclectic, crowd-pleasing blend of old faves and new cuts, dance numbers and rock burners, sing-along gems and rapport-building specials.

Each of the 25 songs will have been been tested for maximum partyability; the order of the songs will be equally important. The huzzahs will be widespread. The body stocking will be burned.

Like all great arts of work, the GPMOAT will not be easy to concoct (the mashups will be hard to find, but they're well worth your cyber scavenger hunt). And like all great works of art, the Bus Boys will be referenced. In case you don't immediately see the genius of the GPMOAT, here are a few things to look for:

Joe Blow might not like Sum 41's In Too Deep; however, the chick Joe Blow is trying to bed loves them, and when she hears that catchy chorus, she'll rub up on Joe until his poor baseball-hatted head explodes. The Pink Panther Theme is not the Henry Mancini version, but a rare humpy stripper-pole version. Raspberry Beret may seem obvious, but this is the far-superior 12"-inch Sodom and Gomorrah version that you'll feel rattling in your loins. And so on and on with the greatness.

WARNING: If the phrase "I see you, baby, shakin' that ass" is offensive to you in any way, you might want to rethink your dedication to the GPMOAT. Or go read a book or be lame.

Okay, here we go. I'm on vacation until next Tues, so that gives you plenty of time to collect the GPMOAT's ingredients and try it out this weekend. Feel free to swap ingredients -- but don't blame me when the crowd starts thinning after you replaced E-40 with the Doors. No one really likes the Doors. Trust me.

Ready? Behold, the mighty GPMOAT:

1.) I See You Baby (Fatboy Slim Remix) -- Groove Armada
2.) Gone Daddy Gone -- Gnarls Barkley
3.) In Too Deep -- Sum 41
4.) Nth Degree -- Morningwood
5.) Brimful of Asha (Norman Cook Remix) -- Cornershop
6.) Saturday Night -- Bay City Rollers
7.) The Pink Panther Theme -- Hollywood Studio Orchestra
8.) 4th of July -- Shooter Jennings
9.) If You Want My Love (Extra Bridge Version) -- Cheap Trick
10.) Tell Me When to Go (Featuring Keak Da Sneak) -- E-40
11.) We Are Family -- Sister Sledge
12.) Give It to Me Baby -- Rick James
13.) Party Up (Up in Here) -- DMX
14.) The Boys Are Back in Town -- the Bus Boys
15.) Snakes on a Plane (Bring It) (w/Sam Jackson Intro) -- Cobra Starship
16.) (What's So Funny 'Bout) Peace, Love and Understanding? -- Elvis Costello
17.) Sweet Home Country Grammar (Mashup) -- Mei-Lwun
18.) Just Dropped In (To See What Condition My Condition Was In) -- First Edition
19.) Holiday Road -- Lindsey Buckingham
20.) The Road to Gila Bend -- Los Lobos
21.) Rasberry Beret (12" Version) -- Prince
22.) Devil in Me -- the 22-20s
23.) Word Up -- Cameo
24.) Candyman -- Christina Aguilera
25.) It Takes Two to Kiss (Mashup) -- DJ John

The Bigfoot Mix: SD's Mountain Jams

The Daly Family heads off to the mountains of western Maryland tomorrow night. Deep Creek Lake to be exact. Temperatures will be in the 30s, which should feel pretty damn good after a sweaty chub-rub year in the 90s. So tizzied by the thought of chilly climes, the Forever Fiancee dropped $500 on new duds for her and the tyke. If we were hiking or sleeping in a tent or foraging for our food, that would be understandable. But the truth is, we'll hardly leave our posh mountain estate, save for another booze and Funyuns run.

I have a crapload of work to do between then and now, but I'm short-timing big time. So here's a mountainous playlist, starting with the obligatory ode to chummy love in the forest...

1.) Dueling Banjos -- Eric Weissberg & Steve Mandel
2.) Misty Mountain Hop -- Led Zeppelin
3.) Rocky Mountain Way -- Joe Walsh
4.) Ain't No Mountain High Enough -- Marvin Gaye & Tammi Terrell
5.) Thunder on the Mountain -- Bob Dylan
6.) Fire on the Mountain -- Grateful Dead
7.) River Deep, Mountain High -- Ike & Tina Turner
8.) A Night on Bald Mountain -- Modest Petrovich Mussorgsky
9.) Big Rock Candy Mountain -- Harry McClintock
10.) Wild Mountain Honey -- Steve Miller Band

What's In Sean's Mailbox: Bad Back Edition

I'm so fat and out of shape. Last night, while sitting in front of the computer, working on a new iTunes playlist (Halloween songs), my back "popped" sending me into writhing agonizing pain. It's not like I was working in the yard or shooting hoops or, you know, moving. I was sitting. Still. The Forever Fiancee saw the whole thing, and the look on her face was a sad combo of concern and oh-boy-did-I-pick-a-winner. In related news, I've been eating a significant amount of Funyuns lately. Seriously. That's not doing anybody any good.

Sigh. After hobbling into work, here's what I found in my mailbox on this October 9, 2006:

Sting -- Songs From the Labyrinth
Jet -- Shine On
George Strait -- It Just Comes Natural
Tim Buckley -- The Best of Tim Buckley
The Twilight Singers -- Powder Burns
Chingy -- Hoodstar
Jimmy Buffett -- Take the Weather With You
Twisted Sister -- A Twisted Christmas

Career Day (or, The Ring-Tailed Lulu)

Friday is "Career Day" at my daughter's school. She's 3 years old. The note from school said the kids should dress up as "whatever they want to be when they grow up." Fair enough. So I asked Lulu what she wants to be when she grows up. And my daughter, so incredibly earnest, looks at me with her saucer-big blue eyes and says, "A raccoon."

Here's a playlist of viable career paths for my daughter:
1.) Teacher, Teacher -- .38 Special
2.) In the Navy -- the Village People
3.) The Boxer -- Simon and Garnfunkel
4.) Paperback Writer -- the Beatles
5.) The Gambler -- Kenny Rogers
6.) The Scientist -- Coldplay
7.) Doctor My Eyes -- Jackson Browne
8.) Sheena Is a Punk Rocker -- the Ramones
9.) Centerfield -- John Fogerty
And of course...
10.) Rocky Raccoon -- the Beatles

BLOG BATTLE: The Go-Go's vs. the Bangles

After a suggestion from loyal blogger Sparky, Steve Spears at the Stuck in the '80s blog and I have decided to wage an ol'-fashioned BLOG BATTLE:

HIS lame-ass Bangles vs. MY incandescent Go-Go's

Herewith, FIVE reasons why the Go-Go's are easily the far better band:

1.) BELINDA CARLISLE MAKES ME FEEL FUNNY INSIDE: Chunky but funky. That's my style. Plus Carlisle's delectable combo platter of her little-girl coo vocal + her curvaceous stage shimmy is enough to make her the greatest girl-group frontwoman of all time. The Bangles' Susanna Hoffs was too thin. Plus with the exception of that weird eye thing in the Walk Like an Egyptian video, she had zero stage presence.

2.) FEMALE EMPOWERMENT THRU SNAPSHOTS OF MALE NAUGHTY BITS: During their rise to superstardom in the early and mid-'80s, the Go-Go's had a notorious hobby of seducing their male groupies into post-show parties and taking pictures of the boys' genitalia. They were turning the tables on male-dominated backstage practices one schwantz at a time. The Bangles, on the other hand, were either good girls and/or vaguely Sasquatchian.

3.) BAD GIRLS: When they weren't Polaroiding peni, several of the Go-Go's were partying themselves into rehab. I like that in a rock star. Hoffs, on the other hand, hung out with her mom a lot.

4.) IN JUST A COUPLE OF YEARS, THE GO-GO'S CHARTED WITH: Our Lips Are Sealed, We Got the Beat, Head Over Heels, Get Up and Go, Vacation and Turn to You...

5.) BUT THEY WERE NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR: Eternal Flame, one of most ear-bleedingly-awful hits in pop history. Come to think of it, Walk Like an Egyptian hasn't aged too well, either.

To read Spears' weak rebuttal, go here.

Go Get 'Em, Killer

On the fun, flammable Last Man Standing, Jerry Lee Lewis kicks Father Time in the teeth, rocking and raging for 21 cuts and making damn sure the nickname "the Killer" still fits at the age of 71.

Great balls, indeed: This is more slugfest than comeback, as Jerry Lee teams up with such bold-name pals as Neil Young and Mick Jagger, Kid Rock and Eric Clapton for rock, blues and honkytonk covers.

Jerry Lee didn't invite a single female singer to the party, but that's not a slight against the ladies. As the title suggests, this is a battle between the boys, and you'd be unwise to bet on anyone but the star attraction.

You can just about hear Jimmy Page sweating his tail off as the Killer merges his Great Balls of Fire and Led Zep's Rock and Roll with all the Louisiana lightning of his old Sun Records self. "It's been a long time since I rock and rolled"? Could have fooled me.

And hell, there's even an element of danger from a dude who once set his piano on fire to show up Chuck Berry. Sweet Little Sixteen is a cocky cover from a grinning wild child with no qualms about marrying his 13-year-old cousin -- and bragging about it. And you get the feeling he invited Bruce Springsteen to duet on a swaggering, switchblade cover of Pink Cadillac just so he could show him who's really the Boss.

What's In Sean's Mailbox: CD Monday

Monday morning (after the meeting, and then the meeting after that one) is a splendid time. My job, my life is put on hold while I tear open my mail, always stuffed fat with the newest CD releases. Although nothing matches the pure joy of opening a CD bought at a store, this comes close. In fact, I shudder to think of a future when I won't be able to fondle music with my sausaugey fingers. Herewith, my CD haul for Monday, October 2, 2006:

Beck -- The Information (Interscope)
The Killers -- Sam's Town (Island)
Shooter Jennings -- Live at Irving Plaza (Universal South)
Meat Loaf -- Bat Out of Hell III: The Monster Is Loose (Virgin/EMI)
Kenny Chesney -- LIVE: Live Those Songs Again (Sony BMG)
Jane's Addiction -- Up From the Catacombs (Warner/Rhino)
Lindsey Buckingham -- Under the Skin (Reprise)
The Little Mermaid Soundtrack (Walt Disney)
Tori Amos -- A Piano: The Collection Box Set (Rhino)
Peter Frampton -- Fingertips (A&M)