Kat McPhee Review

Katharine McPhee, Katharine McPhee (RCA) GRADE: C+

Introducing the newest member of the Pussycat Dolls...Katharine McPhee? After trying on more personae than Inspector Clouseau during last year’s American Idol, Ms. Runner-Up has settled on an artistic disguise: generic hottie with decent voice singing blah, marketing-savvy dance-pop.

McPhee’s self-titled debut album — released this week after months of unspecified delays — isn’t terrible, it’s just not terribly interesting. She was far more appealing as a frosty Celine wannabe eyeing her competitors as if they were dumb talentless bunnies (which, of course, they were). But any semblance of Kat-like claws have been replaced by a blank stare, thigh-high boots and vaguely randy pop foofaraw.

Before you even hear the music, the album art tells you everything: the come-hither hair, the legs agape under a hideous bumblebee dress, sexy enough to goose grown-ups, chaste enough to get her onto Wal-Mart shelves.

The music follows suit. McPhee’s Idol strengths were soft, swelling ballads that showed off her pipes. But there’s very little of that clean, classy sound here. Instead, the 12-track Katharine McPhee is tired with rickety-rackety beats, synthetic strings and cliche pop tricks. Opening song Love Story pulls the old soul-hook groove and midtempo grind, with mad-lib lyrics about love and stuff. A better track is Over It, a catchy kiss-off ballad in which McPhee sounds relatively invested.

But alas, this album will be remembered more for the low points than any high ones. The biggest mistake? Open Toes, a hideous ode to her feet. Remember McPhee’s weepy father, the guy who sobbed at everything? Well, lil’ girl just gave papa a whole new reason to blubber.

CD Review: Norah Jones

Here's my mad-sexy review of the new Norah Jones, hyperlinked for your pleasure.

Norah Jones, Not Too Late (Blue Note) Grade: B-

For such a quiet, humble performer, folk-jazz hybrid Norah Jones packs serious sales punch. The 27-year-old daughter of sitar star (and Beatles confidante) Ravi Shankar, Jones is the bestselling female artist of the 21st century. She has sold 30-million albums worldwide -- and before today, she had released only two solo discs. She has also won eight Grammys, including two for Here We Go Again, her 2004 duet with Ray Charles.

Upon reviewing those statistics, my immediate reaction was: Really? But once I pondered for a while and queued up her opium-dream voice and soft piano playing, I thought: Really?!

It's not that I don't like Jones. I like her. I do. It's just that she excels at dinner music, makeout music, relaxation music. Sure, she's incredibly lovely to look at, but let's be honest. When someone puts Norah Jones on the stereo, someone will inevitably whisper, "Oh, that's nice" and then either kiss you, tuck you in or refill your chardonnay. The way Jones sells discs, you'd think she was rocking arenas from here to Oxnard. In a booty-shaking sea of Beyonces, Norah Jones is an anomaly, an antipop act with MTV oomph.

Jones' new album, the 13-track Not Too Late, will no doubt sell like gangbusters, as well. But it's her safest disc yet, often the aural equivalent of the other side of the pillow: cool, soft and just what I need to fall asleep. She has always been sly enough to stay one step ahead of somnambulism, but here Jones gets too daydreamy. God forbid anyone's listening and operating heavy machinery.

Curiously enough, the album's themes are anything but cushy: love during wartime, maintaining hope among the hopeless. Jones had a writing hand in every track, and kudos to her for getting political. But she and producer-songwriter-boyfriend Lee Alexander too often frame her smart, complex words in such delicate surroundings, your focus gets fuzzy.

Plus Jones' voice is both a blessing and a curse. It's a gorgeous thing indeed, soft and high with a sneaky lower register. It's like honey that gathers at the bottom of your tea cup. But sometimes she doesn't explore its outer reaches enough. And when both her voice and her music lack an edge, a wrinkle, a twist, the lushness overwhelms.

First single Thinking About You is a midtempo breakup ballad with a Dusty in Memphis feel. With its lumbering organ burbles and smoldering horn section, it's entirely pleasant and, when nothing of note happens, entirely forgettable. Sometimes she's not even that aggressive. Take Wake Me Up, which is more than a telling title. Alexander's lap steel should come with NoDoz, and drummer Andy Borger should have his brushes taken from him. As for Jones, she sounds as if she, too, is mesmerized by her voice.

Jones is too talented for the album to be a total letdown. Opening song Wish I Could is a Dylanesque story song involving lost loves and fallen soldiers. Two dueling cellos, played by Julia Kent and Jeff Ziegler, add a mournful foundation, and Jones signals her misery by hitting a high, sad note that threatens to break. Oh, it's good.

And Jones' sales figures make total sense when she shows off her dark, humorous side and that saucer-eyed sex appeal. On Sinkin' Soon, a political rip for sure, she sings like a last-call saloon singer, a little loopy herself as the brass section bops and belches: "We drifted from the shore, with a captain who's too proud to say he dropped the oar." It's like a slow, sinister rag, old-timey drinkin' music used to address modern problems.

Be My Somebody is also a gem. It's the story of a boozy couple who spar in the kitchen yet stay helplessly, hopelessly in love. Working the Wurlitzer, a fiery Jones points at a paramour and tries to "make some sense of the words that are pouring out of your crooked spout." It's a dusty, little blues vamp: drums cruising, guitars flirting, organ humming. This is the Norah Jones who breaks sales records, a musician who knows the difference between sly seduction and crass sexploits. That's why we like her. That's why we bother to stay awake.

Live Review: Gnarls and the Chili Peppers

TAMPA -- It was the best-dressed band vs. the notoriously naked band.

Two brainy pop weirdos against four too-cool punk-funkers.

Or simply, one of the hottest new groups opening for one of the hottest veteran groups.

The juicy plot lines were myriad at the St. Pete Times Forum on Sunday, as the possibly insane sonic scientists in Gnarls Barkley joined randy rock stars the Red Hot Chili Peppers for a raucous, sloppy but highly inspired double-bill in front of 16,947 rowdies.

If you've never heard of Gnarls Barkley, you certainly know the duo's ubiquitous hit: Crazy was THE song of '06, a pop oddity about misplacing one's marbles that introduced portly soul singer Cee-Lo Green and tall, silent Danger Mouse, the beat-making DJ who first made headlines by blending the Beatles' White Album with Jay-Z's Black Album for a concoction called The Grey Album.

GB's platinum debut, 2006's sublime St. Elsewhere, was a swirling blend of rock, techno, hip-hop and sociopathic tendencies. But wait, it gets weirder: Cee-Lo and Mr. Mouse, fully indulging their split-personality schtick, have taken to performing in theme costumes, including sartorial nods to Star Wars, A Clockwork Orange and Austin Powers.

What would the dudes wear this night? Hitting the stage right at the 7:30 ticket time, and with the crowd still trickling in, Cee-Lo, Danger Mouse and a 10-piece backing band strutted out in boarding-school uniforms and headmaster jackets, Pink Floyd's Another Brick in the Wall cranking. If you couldn't guess the gimmick, allow Cee-Lo to explain: "Unfortunately, Gnarls Barkley couldn't be here tonight, so we're gonna cover some of their tunes. We are, of course, the School of Rock!"

They then kicked into Go-Go Gadget Gospel, a cacophonous, cartoonish but highly entertaining racket, with Danger Mouse working the bleeping keyboard consoles, Cee-Lo howling behind the mike and the rest of the band flipping out. The sound was muddled and too loud, proof that Gnarls is better as a studio act. But hey, you just can't look away from these guys.

The band worked through most of St. Elsewhere, with the less-nuanced, more rock-centered songs playing best. The Boogie Monster was straight out of a creature double-feature, a menacing track with a mind-messing twist. A thumping cover of the Violent Femmes' Gone Daddy Gone was a bona fide rumpshaker, with a nubile string section (called the G Strings, no less) dropping their instruments and flipping their hair.

And finally, as the 40-minute set wore down, there was this: "This song is the reason that I am rich and famous today," Cee-Lo cracked as the band jumped into the spooky groove of Crazy. Cee-Lo uncorked that soul-town howl, and the crowd crooned along. Gnarls need to work on their live sound, but man, those nutters make for good theater.

Closing in on 25 years together, SoCal's Peppers celebrated '06 with double album Stadium Arcadium, proof that the men who once bounced around in nothing but tube socks had matured musically but still maintained that frisky party appeal. The quartet has also conquered a few demons along the way, including drug problems that almost felled a couple of the players.

So what wouldn't they wear tonight? For gnomish bassist Flea, a shirt was out of the question. But the rest of the crew was considerably bundled: drummer Chad Smith in mechanic's garb, guitarist John Frusciante in shirt and pants, and long-haired frontman Anthony Kiedis in black workout wear. But the lack of skin didn't mean the bounding boys had mellowed any.

RHCP opened with Can't Stop, one of their trademark fast-hard hits, blending rappish aggression with a golden-sunset melody. Just as good was followup smash Dani California, a surf-mystic ode to their home, complete with a sing-along chorus that sent the throngs into an early frenzy.

The two-hour set's highlights were Frusciante and a totally awesome light show, the two often working in tandem. During his solo on Scar Tissue, his picking merged beautifully with the IMAX-sized backdrop, four square-dancing video screens and tendrils of light that stretched over the crowd.

The band's songs have a tendency to blend into one another (especially the non-hits), and the setlist's midsection was too heavy with murky jams and related noodling. But give the quartet credit for trying to sell each song as an epic.

The Peppers chugged on, losing some crowd energy along the way but regaining it twofold with a set-closing version of the thunderous By the Way and encores of lovely ballad Under the Bridge and the bombastic rage of Give It Away.

You can say a lot about Gnarls and the Peppers. But you can't say you were bored.

American Idol Stumbles: New Yor, New Yor

American Idol has always been a smartly manipulative show, but despite the massive ratings, it was a disaster this week. Memphis was just plain boring, and last night's New York show left a bad taste in my mouth. First of all, lemme just say AMERICAN IDOL ISN'T MEAN ENOUGH. It should be even meaner. Like Simon sez, "When someone's down on the floor, kick them." They should have eviscerated that Noo Yawk buffoon who opened the show last night. What a horrific, depressing way to start a two-hour sh-- sandwich. Can't we get Don Rickles as a guest judge? Chris Rock maybe? They're making all the wrong people cry. I was gonna transcribe my notes, but forget it. Instead, I'm gonna pull an Abdul and hit the pharmacy.

New Music: The Trucks

These are the Trucks, tuff rock grrls from Washington state whose best song (T------) I can't even publish in the paper. Like most women, they terrify and titillate me all at once. I review these lovely ladies + three other acts in this Sunday's LISTEN TO THIS column, found every weekend in the Latitudes section of your St. Pete Times. You should stop by sometime. In a sea of healthy journalism, I'm a bag of Funyuns. Enjoy.

THE TRUCKS

Album: The Trucks (Click Pop)

In stores: Now

Why we care: These in-your-face Bellingham, Wash., grrls (emphasis on the rr) are not for the squeamish. Mixing funky beats, Kraftwerkian keyboards and punk menace, the out-of-control Trucks do whatever they darn well please. This includes scaring the ever-loving crap outta me.

Why we like it: There’s a pop sweetness underlying the profane outbursts and sexual recklessness. The Trucks throw a pretty mean party, too, with fist-pumping choruses, danceable grooves and a ferocious female-empowerment message.

Reminds us of: Tattoos and tiaras.

Download these: Zombie and Messages

Grade: B

Bang, Bang, Bangles: Hammer Tunes

So I wake up this morning to a monster racket out front: My neighbor, the "Doc," is having his roof replaced, and there are scads of shirtless fat guys hammering and tarring and whatever it is roof guys do. They look like a bunch of filthy pirates up there, and yet their taste in music shocks me. Instead of working to the Allman Brothers or AC/DC, the brutes are cranking the Bangles' Manic Monday. Some of them are actually singing along, too. ("Cause that's my fun day...") It's like a Mel Brooks skit. The next song is America's A Horse With No Name. More singing. That's just not right. Not right at all.

So on the way to work, I started putting together a playlist of better "working" tunes. Songs that a roof pirate can hammer to -- and relate to.

1) Up on the Roof -- The Drifters
2) Working for the Weekend -- Loverboy
3) If I Had a Hammer -- Pete Seeger
4) Take This Job & Shove It -- Johnny Paycheck
5) Working in a Coalmine -- Lee Dorsey
6) Here Comes the Hammer -- MC Hammer
7) Working Class Hero -- John Lennon
8) Working Class Man -- Jimmy Barnes
9) 9 to 5 -- Dolly Parton
10) Our House -- Madness

What's In Sean's Mailbox: Norah Jones Is Hot

Just got the new Nadine Johnson disc in the mail. Sounds like a character Ashley Judd would play in some lousy domestic-abuse thriller, right? It's actually the nom de watermark Norah Jones is using on review copies of her new album, Not Too Late, out on Jan. 30. (Paul McCartney used the name Pete Mitchell on promos of his last disc. I almost tossed Macca in the trash, until I saw an accompanying snap of him and his nutter ex-wife.) Internet piracy, top-secrecy, ego: These are reasons why a big-name artist would use a pseudonym. It's all about digital paranoia these days: The promos don't play on computers, making it harder to rip. I'm gonna review Not Too Late next week, but I listened this morning, and it's lush, lilting and damn sexy. In other words, a typical Nadine Johnson album.

Here's my recent CD take...

Norah Jones -- Not Too Late
John Mellencamp -- Freedom's Road
Echo and the Bunnymen -- The Very Best Of
Kristin Hersh -- Learn to Sing Like a Star
Sonny Rollins -- Sonny, Please
Jordan Pruitt -- No Ordinary Girl
Paolo Nutini -- These Streets
Mew -- Frengers
Keak Da Sneak, E-40 -- Hyphy Hitz

Sneak Peek: John Mellencamp

John Mellencamp's new album, Freedom's Road, isn't released until Tuesday, but I can tell you now it's his best since 1985's Scarecrow. Some folks are poo-pooing the simplicity and pop appeal of his surly "state of the union" address, but that's EXACTLY why I like it. Lil' Bastard is mad, but he figures the best way to address enemies is with catchy songs and straight-forward poetry. Here's an excerpt from my upcoming review:

A couple years ago, I spent a rainy November night in Bloomington, Ind., talking politics with John Mellencamp. Actually, he did most of the talking, and smoking, and lambasting powers-that-be past, present and recently re-elected. Over the span of a pack of American Spirit cigs, rock’s surliest liberal set up enemies and knocked ’em down: one Reagan, two Bushes, most Republicans, a few Dems.

As his young blonde sons Hud and Speck wandered about their home, an Italian-style villa on the shores of Lake Monroe (the same lake featured in the Jack & Diane video), their Hoosier Daddy hunkered in the shadows of his snooker room and talked about being a blue-collar Democrat in a blood-red state. “I didn’t feel like a stranger in a strange land until this election,” he said.

At the time, Mellencamp, who had just been a vociferous part of the Bush-bashing Vote for Change concerts, wasn’t sure what his next musical move would be. People were protesting his concerts. When did Mr. Ain’t That America become an unpatriotic villain?

That uncertainty brings us to today’s release of Freedom’s Road, Mellencamp’s best album since 1985 masterpiece Scarecrow, another disc that muscularly merged his cantankerous aesthetic and his pure pop sensibilities.

Back then, Mellencamp was being called a pop pretty boy, so he made an album about the plight of farmers and the apathy of Ronald Reagan. Twenty-two years later, he’s being called a traitorous lefty, so he writes a love letter to America with a slyly poisoned pen. Maybe the former Johnny Cougar is best when his back’s against the wall.

Idol Notes: Night 2

It took three hours (and a day and a half of programming), but at 9:01 p.m. last night, American Idol finally gave us someone to root for: the Indian-American bro-sis combo, who were like a Bollywood version of Donny & Marie. They're a great storyline. Anyway, here's my rambling notes on last night's Idol, which was much better than the premiere, if only because they gave us a scattering of legit talent among the freaks.

Did the "Hotness" used to be a man?...Seriously, this show needs a bodyguard to move the lame-o's along....Where are all the talented people?....Too many dorks....Why is everyone crying?....Paula seems more lucid, Randy seems more surly....GOOD LORD, THE BLONDE BROAD ISN'T WEARING A BRA!!!!....Mark my words: Zitzmann will show up again on the season finale....Ryan Seacrest is a funny dude. Probably an a-hole off-camera, but damn funny when the tape is rolling...."Bush baby": Marty Feldman....I like the tall girl. She's gonna do well.

Idol Notes: Night 1

Hey gang: I've been asked to give my first impressions of last night's Idol premiere. But instead of coherent sentences, would you mind if I just transcribed my rambling notes? Thanks.

Idol Season 6...Five months to to go....They should hire the bald dude from Springer to be a bodyguard. Someone's gonna get shot. Probably Randy....Girl singing Titanic song so bad, I almost choked on a Skittle...."Other door! Other door!" Why don't they open both doors?....Denise Jackson, the grown-up "crack baby," says she's 16, but she looks like she's 47....Secretary and her boss: creepy, but she's hot. Idol looks. Too bad her singing sucks....Latina chick from Florida (Paula?), nice body, flirty, won't make it past Hollywood, but she makes me feel funny inside....Somewhere Over the Rainbow should be banned forever....As should Burt Lahr/Cowardly Lion impressions....has Simon become compassionate?

Who Will Win American Idol?

Season 6 of AMERICAN IDOL doesn’t start until tonight — and doesn’t end until May 23 — but we already know who’s going to win. That's right: The winner is as obvious as the unibrow on Taylor Hicks’ face. The No. 1 TV show in the country succeeds by mixing 10 basic ingredients such as race, genre, sexuality, juicy backstory and accessories (click here to read them) and subtly tweaking each for a new season. If a contestant follows the unspoken rules, she (that's right: she) will win.

HERE'S WHAT OUR WINNER LOOKS LIKE: A flirtatious multiracial Lolita from Awshucks, KY, who loves rock ’n’ roll, always wears a leather bracelet imprinted with “Save Africa” and Angelina Jolie’s face, had her broken nose fixed (after her imprisoned Daddy's turkey-fryer exploded), and is called by Simon (who hated Taylor Hicks) the worst Idol wannabe since Justin Guarini. 

SO...WHO DO YOU THINK WILL WIN AMERICAN IDOL? Boy or Girl? Gay or Straight? Rock or Country? Juicy Dysfunctional Backstory?

Let's hear it...

Night Moves: Bob Seger Live

Here's my review of Saturday's Bob Seger show at the St. Pete Times Forum. It's been hyperlinked for your pleasure. Fun show, and I wrote as much, although some readers are upset that I made fun of his old-man Cocoon glasses and his unfortunate headband. Hey, that was all part of the charm, folks. The dude can still rock.

TAMPA -- The best way to hear a Bob Seger song has nothing to do with big, bursting arenas or $40 concert tees. Instead, the growly Detroit rocker has always been the patron saint of drive-time radio, the perfect guide as we rattle home from work in our beatup rides, pounding the steering wheel to the beat, just enough money in our lonely, linty pockets for a cheap six-pack.

Many in the raucous crowd of 16,994 at the St. Pete Times Forum on Saturday forged their affections for Seger in very much the same way, growing up in the '70s and '80s, running against the wind, working on their night moves, you get the picture.

And now here they were. Here he was. All of them loud and happy and still young enough to rock.

Man, was this a fun show.

In order to raise his kids and be a family man, the 61-year-old blue-collar hero took a decade off from singing songs and kicking out the footlights. But now he's back on the road -- finally -- with a gone-platinum new disc, Face the Promise, and a bestselling comeback tour with his venerable Silver Bullet Band. And my oh my, weren't his fans happy to have him back.

You could say that Seger has always been the Springsteen of the heartland, the chosen navigator of all those wide open spaces and dusty main streets where a young Midwesterner can feel a little lost. Seger is a rich man now, with a nice big house in Michigan, but he never forgot his roots.

And he certainly never bothered dyeing his roots, either, as Seger hit the stage for his two-hour-plus show looking every bit his age, a grizzled, gray-headed grizzly bear in a black T-shirt, jeans and uncool glasses.

But the layoff only helped preserve his iconic voice, as Seger unloaded an opening version of Roll Me Away with a voice that sounded just as big as it did all those years ago.

And he certainly wasn't lacking for energy. Backed by his 13-piece band (including a wild, woolly horn section), Seger unloaded hit after hit: Mainstreet, We've Got Tonight, Turn the Page, the latter of which Seger performed behind a piano, leading the crowd in a tingly sing-along.

Seger is such an eager, robust performer, he has the ability to pump refreshing life into songs you've heard hundreds of times. If you think you're tired of Old Time Rock & Roll -- and if the sight of Tom Cruise gamboling in his undies in Risky Business soured the song for you years ago -- that sucker flat-out cooked in a live setting, the very definition of "arena rocker."

Seger took a quick intermission -- perhaps to refresh his likably dorky headband? -- and returned with just as much fire. (Author's note: In my original version, which was snipped for length, I gushed about his version of Chuck Berry's C'est La Vie, great chunks of 1975 live disc Live Bullet, and closing jams of Hollywood Nights and Night Moves.)

He played and played, oldie after goodie, long into the night. After all, the man had a lot of catching up to do.

The Year of the Body

Because I'm a big tub of goo, I've started walking the 3.3 mile "loop" in my Feather Sound 'hood. Normally, I'd stop such foolishness after one day. But I've kept going mainly because of my highfalutin' new iPod, which I love more than my family. The "loop" takes me about 14 songs on "shuffle" mode. Now here's the deal: Because of my severe OBSESSIVE-COMPULSIVE disorder, I cannot advance the shuffle at any time. Whatever plays, plays. No cheating. If I did falsely advance the shuffle, something horrible would happen, like death or explosions. Besides, by not advancing the shuffle, my iPod stats are more natural. As you can see, I have serious issues. But my calves are looking great.

Today's "natural" shuffle was awesome, especially as I eyed the homestretch and me and Shania were cruising along gaily ("Let's go, girls!"). Check it out:

1) Do You Realize?? -- Flaming Lips
2) Jokerman -- Bob Dylan
3) Innocence -- Go West
4) Harper Valley PTA -- Martina McBride
5) Life in a Northern Town -- The Dream Academy
6) Cinco de Mayo -- Liz Phair
7) Everything Is Broken -- Bob Dylan
8) Only Happy When It Rains -- Garbage
9) Funkytown -- Lipps Inc.
10) The Instrumental -- Lupe Fiasco
11) Run to Me -- Raul Malo
12) Man! I Feel Like a Woman! -- Shania Twain
13) 3 AM -- Matchbox Twenty
14) Werewolves of London -- Warren Zevon

Coming Soon: Lily, Norah, Belinda

This here is Lily Allen. Saucy lil' minx, ain't she? Along with bodacious R&B bad girl Amy Winehouse, the pop-minded Lily is a 21-year-old British controversy magnet, teasing about drugs and sex, and cracking on fellow musicians whenever she gives an interview. She's a former/current Ibiza-partying socialite who's taken to music-making. Hmm, are you thinking what I'm thinking? Perusing her Website, she seems to have more going for her than P. Hilton. But we'll see. Lily Allen and Amy Winehouse are just two of the buzzed-about releases of the spring. Here's a quick list:   

JANUARY
1/16 America -- Here & Now
1/23 John Mellencamp -- Freedom’s Road
1/23 The Shins -- Wincing the Night Away
1/30 Clap Your Hands Say Yeah -- Some Loud Thunder
1/30 Norah Jones -- Not Too Late
1/30 Katharine McPhee -- Katharine McPhee
1/30 Lily Allen -- Alright, Still
1/30 Harry Connick Jr. -- Oh, My Nola

FEBRUARY
2/6 FallOutBoy -- Infinity on High
2/6 Ashley Tisdale -- Headstrong
2/6 Belinda Carlisle -- Voila
2/13 The Visitors -- The Visitors

MARCH
3/6 Various -- Jonny Greenwood Is the Controller
3/? Amy Winehouse -- Back to Black

What's in Sean's Mailbox: Reggae-o-head

On March 6, Radiohead guitarist Jonny Greenwood will team up with Trojan Records to release his favorite reggae, soul and dub tracks. The 17-track Jonny Greenwood Is the Controller includes all your favorites, including Bionic Rats by Lee "Scratch" Perry and Flash Gordon Meets Luke Skywalker by Scientist & Jammy & the Roots Radics. I'm tickled at the idea of some pasty-faced Radiohead fan trying to process this stuff. And when Greenwood cranks Black Panta on the tour bus, does a meditating Thom Yorke throw a hissy?

A little thin in the mailbox today, although I did get to indulge my increasingly disturbing affection for tween pop:

Ashley Tisdale -- Headstrong
Lee Perry, Desmond Dekker -- Jonny Greenwood Is the Controller
R.L. Burnside, Samuel L. Jackson -- Black Snake Moan
The Visitors -- The Visitors
Rockabye Baby! Lullaby Renditions of Queens of the Stone Age
Rockabye Baby! Lullaby Renditions of the Eagles

...And the Hall of Fame Will Rock

Van Halen will be inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame on March 12. Other 2007 inductees include R.E.M., Grandmaster Flash & the Furious Five, Patti Smith and the Ronettes. Good, eclectic group this year and the awards show at New York's Waldorf Astoria should be juicy.

Well, if David Lee Roth shows up, that is. Which he probably won't. And don't go expecting Sammy Hagar or Michael Anthony. Word is, they despise Eddie.

My bet is that Eddie and maybe bro Alex show up at the ceremony. Then maybe Eddie + Alex (and Eddie's kid, Wolfie, who now plays bass for the band) will rip out a 13-minute Eruption before staggering back to the bar. I'm not expecting them to jam with any of the other inductees. That lil' homunculus Michael Stipe probably hates VH, and Patti Smith is a bore.

But just for fun, let's say DLR does show up: WHAT VAN HALEN SONG SHOULD THE BOYS PLAY? Runnin' With the Devil, maybe? Jump, perhaps?

Also, WHO SHOULD INDUCT THEM? How about Tommy Lee?

Who Needs Tickets?

Here's a quick look at the spring concert season in Tampa Bay. WHAT LOOKS GOOD? LAME? NAKED?

JANUARY
1/13 Bob Seger -- SPT Forum
1/17 Rod Stewart -- SPT Forum
1/28 Gnarls Barkley/Red Hot Chili Peppers -- SPT Forum
1/28 Mastodon -- Jannus Landing

FEBRUARY
2/9 Stevie Nicks -- Ford Amphitheatre
2/10 New Edition -- SPT Forum
2/22 Justin Timberlake -- SPT Forum
2/22 Taylor Hicks -- Tampa Theater
2/23 Hinder -- Jannus Landing
2/24 The Roots -- House of Blues (Orlando)

MARCH
3/13 The Who -- Ford Amp

APRIL
4/4 & 4/5 Tom Jones -- Ruth Eckerd Hall

MAY
5/4 Christina Aguilera -- SPT Forum
5/6 Jerry Lee Lewis -- Vinoy Waterfront Park
5/8 Gwen Stefani -- Ford Amphitheatre 

Ever Heard of Amy Winehouse?

British R&B bad girl Amy Winehouse will make a big-budget bid to break into the States this March with her sophomore album Back to Black. (Her first one, 2003's Frank, apparently went platinum, no thanks to anyone on these shores.)

I had never heard of her before -- until some really hot pictures of her appeared on my desk thanks to the folks at Universal Republic. She looks like a chunkier, funkier Gina Gershon. The British tabloids supposedly have a field day with her, 'cause she likes to party and talk about her sex life. And I, of course, totally dig that.

What about her music, you ask? You can go here to check it out. It's pretty wild. As if Phil Spector produced Macy Gray or if Nellie McKay ditched the piano and used Motown samples to pump up her cheeky rhymes. The song Rehab is particularly hot and could definitely be a hit over here. I'm liking Amy Winehouse, and totally plan to write slobbery things about her later on.

Hag & Possum: Still Ticking, Kicking

'Cause y'all say I never write about C&W, here's a chunk of last Sunday's LISTEN TO THIS column...

George Jones & Merle Haggard

Album: Kickin' Out the Footlights...Again (Bandit)

Why we care: Twenty-five years after their first album together, Hag and Possum get around to making their second, a warm, woozy tribute to surviving booze, drugs, prison, women and stardom -- and becoming country icons along the way.

Why we like it: Like a couple of singing saddlebags, the weathered, leathered duo takes turns singing each other's songs, and even duet on a handful. Merle may be 69, and Jones 75, but these seniors bring more genuine grit, energy and emotion to their music than just about anyone else in Nashville.

Reminds us of: Riding off into the sunset (or the corner bar)

Download these: Footlights, She Thinks I Still Care, I Think I'll Just Stay Here and Drink

GRADE: B+