"If You Think I'm Happy, You're Right"

Before the Heartbreakers, the hits, the hall of fame, there was Mudcrutch, Tom Petty’s first real band, a gritty Gainesville quintet playing blue collar joints for folks too besotted to remember. They formed in 1970, but the house band at Dub’s was kaput by '75. For some members, obscurity; for others, American Girl.

For 30-plus years, Mudcrutch remained a footnote, an answer to a trivia question. But a funny thing happened when Tom Petty turned 57. With modern life hitting him hard, he became wistful for the good ol’ days and decided to get the jammy, twangy Mudcrutch back together. Two of the guys weren’t hard to find: guitarist Mike Campbell and organist Benmont Tench are solid-gold Heartbreakers. The others, guitarist-vocalist Tom Leadon and drummer Randall Marsh, were dusted off and given plenty to do.

Just like way back when, Petty is once again the band’s bassist, trading in his trusty geetar for some hopalong grooves. On a new album, he writes eight out of 14 songs, and takes the lead vocal on all but a few. (Tench does a great impression of his boss on This Is a Good Street, and Leadon, sounding just like Glenn Frey, steals the mike on Queen of the Go-Go Girls.)

But for all TP’s star power, this is very much a group effort, the Wilburys meet the Byrds meet Pure Prairie League. Petty shares singing duties with Leadon on the opening song, traditional dustup Shady Grove, which sounds like Rawhide with a hint of menace. The nine-minute Crystal River is a sprawling stoner special, with Tench, Leadon and Campbell hogging the spotlight. June Apple is a crunchy instrumental. And on the chuggy Bootleg Flyer, the band sounds as if it never left University Avenue, the tight grooves as vital as anything Petty’s day job has produced in years.

Sticky & Sweet: Madonna's "Hard Candy"

Hey sex kittens, just got the new Madonna in the mail this morning. Hard Candy comes out tomorrow. Here's a first impression...

Madonna
Album: Hard Candy (Warner Bros.)
In stores: Tuesday
Why we care: Forty-nine-year-old mom Madge invites the neighbor boys over for a little while-he’s-away on her 11th studio album. Justin Timberlake, Kanye West, Timbaland and Pharrell bring their synthy booty beats and marching-band samples, Madonna purrs out every dumb “give it to me” cliche, and we all dance naked.
Why we like it: If all that sounds a little desperate, a little forced and a lot of fun, well, it is — how you deal with the morning guilt is up to you. The Timberlake appearance has the intended Mrs. Robinson effect, but Madonna merges best with Pharrell, whose restless rhythms goose her into giving more.
Reminds us of: In the liner notes, Madonna looks like a dancer at Adult World in Syracuse, N.Y. This is not a good thing.
Download these: 4 Minutes (WATCH) Heartbeat (LISTEN) and Candy Shop (LISTEN)
Grade: B

UPDATED: Here Comes the Hate Mail...

Dear Sean,

No doubt, you’ve already been bombarded. I wanted to join the ranks. Clearly you are not a Jersey girl who grew up in the 80’s with a door-poster of Jon in your bedroom; I get that. However, if you aren’t a fan of Bon Jovi’s new music, then perhaps you shouldn’t have gone to the concert bearing its name in the first place. I’m sure there were other people that would’ve gladly taken your spot. At 46 Jon is still a great artist/singer and performer, and for you to take that away from him with such demeaning words seems a bit harsh, even for a "critic." I understand everyone is entitled to their opinion, but something tells me your opinion differs from about 20,536 people who enjoyed the show immensely, especially the shimmys! Perhaps you were also a little jealous of just how much we female fans love our man Jon. After all, you certainly can’t argue that he looks DAMN GOOD for his age.

Jersey Girl extraordinaire

****

Dear Sean,

Next time the Times should send someone to the Bon Jovi concert who truly appreciates good music.

Your article and your taste in music need to learn how to rock, cause you don’t!

PS Bob Dylan can't sing to save his life!

****

Sean Sean: What the hell?!?!?!?!

Dumb, dull, fine, sublime, goofballs....What concert were you at????

The Bon Jovi concert last night kicked ass!!!!!!!!!!!!  Did you notice that the crowd,
woman and MEN where on the feet almost the entire concert singing and dancing and having an awesome time. Where were you watching the concert from, the men's room?
You obviously are not a Bon Jovi fan. To bad you missed a GREAT time?!?!

From a true Bon Jovi Goofball Fan

PS: And yes I screamed when he showed some chest and shook his fanny!! Are you jealous Sean?  Are you? I think so!

The Black Keys "Attack & Release"

This is awesome to the highest power. Seriously, the summit of Mt. Awesome. Akron's the Black Keys. Love these dudes. (Plus they read Silver Surfer, which geeks me out even more.)

The Black Keys
Album: Attack & Release (Nonesuch)
In stores: Now
Why we care: Gnarls Barkley’s DJ Danger Mouse produces this new full-length from the Akron blues-rock duo. That’s a little like Buck Rogers joining Indiana Jones to fight Nazis. So it’s cool.
Why we like it: Singer-guitarist Dan Auerbach and drummer Patrick Carney lay down Hendrixian licks and assorted crunchery as Danger Mouse drops in subtle psychedelic shimmer and related trippery. The result is more gnarly than Gnarls, and when it works best, it’s totally intoxicating in a puff-puff-pass sorta way.
Reminds us of: Wolfmother — which means they remind us of the greatest new rock band of the 21st century. The Keys rule.
Download these: Strange Times (LISTEN) and Psychotic Girl (LISTEN)
Grade: A

Mariah Carey's "E = MC2"

E = MC2 makes my head hurt.

Mariah Carey, the Long Island mall queen who's never met a note she couldn’t stretch into octave-spanning overkill, opens her new album with a flurry of particularly painful shrieks, a showoff moment that goes horribly, cat-exploding wrong.

I repeat: Ow.

What was she thinking? Or drinking? MC’s previous disc, 2005’s 10-million-selling smash The Emancipation of Mimi, had an unintentionally funny title, a self-indulgent nod to the singer’s flighty tabloid troubles. But the music within (including Grammy-winning ballad We Belong Together) was relatively smart — or relatively smart enough to help her over a midcareer slump.

E = MC2, Carey’s 11th studio album, which comes out next Tuesday, has a rather clever title, a wink-wink twist on the bombshell-with-a-brain mystique, a la Marilyn Monroe. But in this case, the music within turns out to be a lazy, generic mess, limp, brain-poking pop that makes the Einstein-inspired title even more of a ripe, red satirical target.

"Saturday Nights & Sunday Mornings"

Counting Crows
Album: Saturday Nights & Sunday Mornings (Geffen)
In stores: Now
Why we care: With his punchdrunk poetry and rambling vocal style as self-indulgent as ever, Adam Duritz returns after a six-year layoff. This concept disc is broken down into sin and salvation, and guitarist/secret weapon David Bryson uses the surprisingly garage-rocking first half to showcase vicious riffs.
Why we like it: Duritz, now 43, is a total headcase, but therein lies his undeniable charm. He’s not afraid to let his usual hangups hang out, from the perils of fame to his battles with depression. He’s also a shameless romantic, and when he spills his glorious guts (“I am the king of nothing!”), you can’t help but embrace him. History will remember the Counting Crows very, very well.
Reminds us of: This sucker would sound even better on crackly, late-night vinyl.
Download these: Los Angeles and Cowboys
Grade: B+

REVIEW: Gnarls Barkley "The Odd Couple"

I posted audio clips of the new Gnarls Barkley a few days ago. (LISTEN). I finally got around to digging in. Love these guys.

Gnarls Barkley, The Odd Couple (Atlantic/WEA) GRADE: B+

Once again, the madness begins with the whirrr of an old movie projector. And just like before, the cinematic lunacy is immediate, ping-ponging sounds of acid-dripped go-go and the moans of Al Green's ghost stretched across a torture rack. Depending on whether you bought into this big batch of bonkers the first time around, you’ll either switch it off or resume the Watusi ’til the rubber-room guys cart you away.

Yep, Gnarls Barkley is back. The duo follows up 2006’s multiplatinum St. Elsewhere (and ubiquitous hit Crazy) with The Odd Couple, 13 tracks that further explore their obsession with the cellophane line between sanity and gone-baby-gone.

Like most of GB’s schtick — which includes dressing up in Star Wars garb for concerts — The Odd Couple is played with a grin and a wink. It’s all sleight of hand with these trip-hopping soul men. For instance, the new album was scheduled for April 8 — but at the last minute, they released it in digital form on March 18. Why? Because that’s what Gnarls Barkley does.

Even the album’s title is a bit of a lark. Unlike Felix and Oscar, these two are actually perfect for each other; they’re just odd compared to the rest of us. Danger Mouse, the quiet, lanky L.A. beatmaker, creates paisley soundscapes for partner Cee-Lo, the chatty, stubby Atlanta soul singer who just might be totally unhinged. Heck, compared to these soulmates, the Carpenters looked mismatched.

The Kids Love Me!

Here's my review of Saturday's Jonas Brothers concert, which includes my highly controversial statement that it will be Joe, and not Nick, who will have solo fame. That's right. I so went there. 

(After years of trying and failing to write for people my own age, I'm now focusing exclusively on high-school and junior-high readers. Next week I'm totally running for class president.)

Have Yourself a Vampire Weekend

I'm a little slow catching on to the Vampire Weekend buzz, but hey, better late than never. If the rich kids in a John Hughes movie had formed a band instead of harassing Molly Ringwald, they might have sounded like this...

SONG OF THE WEEK
Artist: Vampire Weekend
Song: Oxford Comma (LISTEN)
Album: Vampire Weekend (XL)
In stores: Now
Why we care: Are you ready for the next great musical movement: grammar-pop! Okay, maybe not. But this NY-NY indie quartet is made up of Columbia U. button-downs who rock about prestige, Cape Cod and, on this song, the serial comma. They aren't afraid to mix Afropop into their preppy schtick, either. Sound sexy? Then read on!
Why we like it: Oxford Comma has a cool, profane strut to it (like Elvis Costello futzing around with a toy piano) as an Ivy League fop tries to take down a snobby counterpart with the wisdom of Lil’ Jon.
Reminds us of: Ain’t no party like a Strunk & White party! Hey, don’t bogart the thesaurus!
Song grade: B

Kathleen Edwards "Asking for Flowers"

I love when I get unexpected musical crushes, when I can't wait to gobble up an album again and again. It makes me dig my job even more. It makes me realize I'd be miserable doing anything else.

I'm currently infatuated with Canadian folk-rocker Kathleen Edwards, whose new album is called Asking for Flowers. (Thanks to the reader out there who goosed my interest in her. I listen to you guys more than you think.) Edwards, the 29-year-old daughter of diplomats, is proud to strut such influences as Neil Young, Bob Dylan and Tom Petty. She can reference Marty McSorley and John Fogerty in the same song. Bet she could drink me under the table, too.

A curious colleague asked for a comparison, so I said Edwards sounds like Tanya Donelly covering a rollicking Bruce Springsteen song. Or, at the very least, Nanci Griffith fronting the Counting Crows. I dunno. I'm still trying to peg her. See for yourself with these two music clips...

Click here for the song The Cheapest Key.

Click here for the song Asking for Flowers.

ROUGH DRAFT: The Raveonettes

I dunno if any of this is gonna work, but here's the start of a Raveonettes review + a gratuitous vid for new single Dead Sound.

Danish duo the Raveonettes are kind of like the White Stripes...if Jack and Meg were lovesick vampires. Or like the Everly Brothers if Phil and Don were hardscrabble gumshoes. Or like Jan & Dean if the surf-rockers soundtracked Twin Peaks.

Sune Rose Wagner and Sharin Foo are ambiguously related pretty people with a blatant love for '60s girl groups and B-movie chills — and a blatant disregard for today’s marketplace. Their chief influences are Buddy Holly, Phil Spector and every single garage-rocker who’s ever stabbed his amp with a switchblade to get that fuzzed-out squeal.

Somewhere on their tour bus, there's a paperback copy of Farewell, My Lovely with a cigarette hole on the middle.

With gorgeous harmonies and a menacing leer ("I fell out of heaven," they sing, "to be with you in hell"), the Raveonettes are both pleasing and jarring, making their new album, Lust Lust Lust, perfect for makeout sessions or solitary confinement.

The Healing Power of Doritos

Finally, my unhealthy love of Doritos is starting to pay off. This incandescent 22-year-old is Kina Grannis, the winner of the Doritos Crash the Super Bowl contest. Maybe you remember her commercial? The finger-staining corn chip spent its Super Bowl ad money telling America to buy this singer-songwriter’s iTunes single. So I did. Per usual, the snacks were correct. (In a curious sidenote, Funyuns once told me to rob a bank. That didn't work out as well.) Anyway, I can't get Grannis, a psych grad from the University of Southern California, out of my head. The song is called Message From Your Heart. Lemme know what you think...

Out Tuesday: Janet Jackson's "Discipline"

Janet Jackson
Album: Discipline (Island)
In stores: Tuesday
Why we care: Much like brother MJ, Janet Jackson long ago lost touch with the current pop marketplace. But her 10th album might be weird enough to sell: a retro concept disc about a funky future. In other words, a robot-silly ’80s platter made for plugged-in modern listeners.
Why we like it: With the help of cyborgian servant Kyoko (yep, that's right), Jackson patrols a futuristic sex paradise, working out her nightly passions over burbly blips and techno crashes. Discipline gets a little too synthetic after awhile — like making out with the HAL 2000 — but the first half is perversely fun.
Reminds us of: Mrs. Roboto
Download these: Feedback (WATCH) and Roller Coaster (LISTEN)
Grade: B

LIVE REVIEW: George Strait

TAMPA - Safe, solid, as stable as a sunrise: That's George Strait, the country stalwart who's had just as many birthdays -- 55 -- as No. 1 hits. So if you came to the St. Pete Times Forum Saturday expecting a wild 'n' woolly hootenanny, you were in the wrong joint, cowpoke.

Instead, ol' George, as traditional as the clean, crisp hat on his head, set 'em up and knocked 'em down - not a lot of chit-chat, not many how's-your-mamas, just two blissful hours of purebred country and boogieable honky-tonk (including opening dustup "Honk If You Honky Tonk").

The saloon-festooned crowd of 18,233 expected nothing less (and nothing more) from their hero, singing along to every tear-in-your-beer beauty, every Bob Wills-inspired old-school swinger.

"Mr. Daly Be Tripping!"

Just received this rather brilliant letter from a seventh-grade class at John Hopkins Middle School in St. Petersburg. The students had a few pointed things to say about my Soulja Boy review (which you can read here). Point taken, gang. Point taken.

Dear Mr. Daly,

We were very interested to read your concert review of Chris Brown, Soulja Boy and Bow Wow.

Our Journalism teacher Mr. Mabe had us read it to see what a professional concert review is like. Plus he knew those performers are all very popular with our age group.

But we soon ran into a problem. We could not understand what you were talking about. As one student noted, when it comes to vocabulary, "Mr. Daly be tripping."

Still, Mr. Mabe was able to use it as a lesson for us. We went through the story and found the dictionary definition of all the words we didn't know and then Mr. Mabe would give us an example of how it is used. And it only took us two 80-minute classes to look them all up!!

Here are the words we had trouble with, along with their definition:

fodder = raw material
fanatics = fans
sate= satisfy
jones = addiction
snippets = small parts
cohesion = sticking together
currency = money
bevy = collection
critiquing = analyzing or criticizing
rickety = unstable
grit = crunchy bits
mudslide = landslide of mud
swagger = jaunty walk or strut (Mr. Mabe said some guy named Mick Jagger invented that one.
emblematic = representing
bust = failure
lanky = skinny or raw-boned
tutorial = something that teaches you how to do something
raunchy = dirty or nasty
throngs = a large number of people (some kids giggled when Mr. Mabe said it because they thought he said "thongs.")
ubiquitous = everywhere
strains = part of music (but we only figured that out after looking at 33 other possible definitions.)
venue = a place
unison = all together, as one
foster = promote
conjured = bring or summon
engaging = interacting
banter = talking, chit-chat
dubbed = named or called
loose-limbed = flexible

We also never heard of Fred Astaire or Gene Kelly. Some of the kids sort of knew the names but we had no idea why. So Mr. Mabe put on a preview of the movie "Singing in the Rain," and we all sang along.

So anyway, what's with all the big words, dude?

7th Grade Research Class
John Hopkins Middle School

SD's 10 Favorite Box Sets

Hey kids, a few days ago I waxed poetic about the beauty of the box set. On Friday, that story, plus three dynamite essays about what we're missing in iPod Nation, hits newsstands. In celebration of this most excellent package, I've been asked to list my fave box sets. So last night, Kid Lulu, who looooves dismantling those suckers, and her Old Man went into my CD-strewn office and played some tunes.

Here's a few of my (and Lulu's) faves...

10. The Legend: Johnny Cash (Columbia)
9. Warner Bros.: 75 Years of Film Music (Warner Bros.)
8. The Brit Box: UK Indie, Shoegaze and Brit-Pop Gems of the Last Millennium (Rhino)
7. El Cancionera Mas y Mas: Los Lobos (Warner Bros.)
6. Jersey Beat: The Music of Frankie Valli & the 4 Seasons (Rhino)
5. Rockin' Bones: 1950s Punk & Rockabilly (Rhino)
4. The Music of Disney: A Legacy in Song (Walt Disney)
3. Can You Dig It? The '70s Soul Experience (Rhino)
2. Ray Charles Pure Genius: The Complete Atlantic Recordings (1952-1959) (Atlantic)
1. Biograph: Bob Dylan (Columbia)

REVIEW: Soulja Boy, Chris Brown

TAMPA - This wasn't a concert. No, this was a sixth-grader's iTunes playlist. This was a slick series of cell phone ringtones. This was video fodder for YouTube fanatics who sate their musical jones through snippets and sound bites.

Who needs substance and cohesion when style, flash and one-and-done accessibility is the currency of the mall, the schoolyard, the dance floor? At the St. Pete Times Forum on Monday, a who's-who of young hip-hop acts, chart-toppers all, unloaded a bevy of disposable hits, occasional flashes of talent and a whole heap of 'tude to a pumped-up crowd of 8,793.

Critiquing this one as a regular gig was missing the point. (Although having a youth-oriented show run until midnight on a school night was lousy form. I feel you, mom and dad. I really do.) This was a grab bag, a variety show. To make a tour like this profitable, you have to stuff the lineup with as many names as possible. So if you didn't like one hit, another was on its way soon enough.

[Times photo: Brian Cassella]

REVIEW: Louis XIV, Hot Hot Heat, the Editors

ST. PETERSBURG — Go figure: The best and bawdiest in British rock these days is actually swaggering out of...San Diego?

On a bloody brilliant triple bill at Jannus Landing Wednesday, three hip, cocksure bands gave a tutorial in the myriad shades of UK cool — even though only one actually resides across the pond.

Louis XIV, Hot Hot Heat, the Editors. If you haven’t heard of these guys — and they’re all very much guys, albeit different shades of skirt-chasing dude — you soon will. They draw inspiration from their Anglo elders (Bowie, Morrissey, Jagger), but cater to modern demands of style and salesmanship.

The best of the lot (if not the cleanest, tightest) were the openers, SoCal’s Louis XIV, whose swarthy come-ons and below-the-belt boasts repel as many fans as seduce them. (These guys should never play earlier than midnight; at Jannus, their royal rumble commenced at an awkward 7:50 p.m.) Their schtick is pretending to be ’70s-stuck British glam idols. But let it be known that they’re far too smart to let a gimmick get in the way of greatness.

Led by singer Jason Hill, who goes about his snug-trousered work like a rogue who can’t wait to steal your girlfriend, Louis mixed Stonesian blues (the immoral high of Guilt by Association) with Queenly beauty (the download-this Air Traffic Control). They also had not one, but two violinists onstage, so that tells you something, too.

Let's Do It: SD's 10 Best Albums of '07

10. Alicia Keys, As I Am: This isn’t the masterpiece she’ll one day deliver. But the R&B star continues to take her prodigious skills to soul-kissed extremes.

9. Kanye West, Graduation: School’s out, suckas. And despite the vainglorious tantrums, 'Ye is nothing less than hip-hop’s envelope-pushing valedictorian. (That's right, Stephanie Hayes. I said "vainglorious." You got a problem with that?)

8. Rihanna, Good Girl Gone Bad: This year’s "Off the Wall." A smart, crazy-fun dance disc. Best gams in the biz, too...um, if you're into that sort of thing.

7. Rufus Wainwright, Release the Stars: I’m not sure which is bigger: my crush on Keys or Wainwright, whose lazy-river malaise is a thoroughly unique pop instrument.

6. Lily Allen, Alright, Still...: The Brit brat and MySpace pixie blends ska and Piccadilly pop to make a snotty charmer. When Lily smiles, watch your back.

5. Mark Ronson, Version: Producer of the year, Ronson is the throwback guy who made stars out of Allen and Winehouse. Here he calls on his pals to flirt over funky horns, hip-hop beats and L.A.-cool soundscapes.

4. Amy Winehouse, Back to Black: She looks like Dorothy’s house just dropped on her head. But before witchy Winehouse skidded out on drugs, the neo-girl-grouper earned those honors as breakout artist of ’07.

3. Miranda Lambert, Crazy Ex-Girlfriend: Save your sugar and spice: This proudly psychotic outlaw is all parts gunpowder and lead. Looks like a pinup, bites like a pitbull.

2. Robert Plant & Alison Krauss, Raising Sand: Buy your ticket and hop aboard this Southern Gothic tunnel of love. A lesson in chemistry that mixes twang, voodoo and 1,000 haunted, hopeful hearts.

1. M.I.A., Kala: Daughter of a freedom fighter, mother of invention: When Maya Arulpragasam was banned from the U.S.A., the hip-hop rebel scavenged exotic sounds and beats from the rest of the world. "Don’t order me about," she barks at men trying to control her. "I'm an outlaw from the badland." You go, girl.

SD's Best Of '07: Honorable Mentions

Hey Superstars,

On Friday, I'll hit you with my Top 10 Albums of 2007 (seven of which are courtesy of women, including the No. 1 spot).

Today, you get the honorable mentions. If you ask me tomorrow (or the next day or the next), I'd no doubt swap a few of the following into the Top 10 (including Shawn Carter's killer comeback disc.) In other words, it was a helluva year to be a pop music critic.

Here ya go...

Feist, The Reminder
Nicole Atkins, Neptune City (REVIEW)
Rilo Kiley, Under the Blacklight (REVIEW)
Patty Griffin, Children Running Through
Shooter Jennings, The Wolf
Bruce Springsteen, Magic (REVIEW)
John Fogerty, Revival
Eddie Vedder, Into the Wild
The Hives, The Black and White Album (REVIEW)
Mark Knopfler, Kill to Get Crimson
White Stripes, Icky Thump
Jay-Z, American Gangster

John Mellencamp, Freedom’s Road
Arcade Fire, Neon Bible

NEW MUSIC: Rufus & Rivers

Rufus Wainwright
Album: Rufus Does Judy at Carnegie Hall (Geffen)
In stores: Now
Why we care: Despite the crap I'm gonna catch from my buddies, I'm a total sucker for Wainwright, the showbiz kid with the murky past and yowza voice. On this live album, the 34-year-old re-creates Judy Garland's famed ’61 show at the same NYC venue. Depending on your tolerance level, this is either a lush seance that swings -- or the equivalent of being trapped in a closet with Rip Taylor.
Why we like it: With his full-throated lazy-river phrasing — a muddled way of annunciating that turns some listeners off — Wainwright tackles the Great American Songbook with high volume and modern gravitas. Me? I think it's amazing performance. No matter how many times it’s been done, the climactic Over the Rainbow is pretty damn good.
Reminds us of: Rufus' other 2007 album, Release the Stars, is even better.
Download these: The Man That Got Away and Over the Rainbow
Grade: A-

Rivers Cuomo
Album: Alone: The Home Recordings of Rivers Cuomo (Geffen)
In stores: Now
Why we care: Bespectacled misfit leader of power-pop band Weezer, Cuomo is as melodically gifted as he is socially messed-in-the-head. When he’s not obsessing over the perfect hook, he’s hiding in a closet for days on end. These shoddy, crackly demos play like diary entries: creepy, self-indulgent but peppered with catchy genius. For Weezer completists only.
Why we like it: The liner notes (dark, brooding, naive) are more interesting than the music. But there are some interesting tunes, including a bizarro rock opera that's kinda fun before it gets tired. As for legit hits, Crazy One, a tribute to Phil Spector’s Wall of Sound style, is the rare keeper. The jangly rumbler was inspired by an ex with an “extraordinarily unsavory” life. But he falls in love anyway. "You can actually hear my whimpering," Rivers writes about the recording.
Reminds us of: Cuomo reveals that the original lyric for Buddy Holly was "Oo-wee-oo, you look just like Ginger Rogers. Oh-oh, I move just like Fred Astaire."
Album grade: C-

REVIEW: Jordin Sparks

When we first fell in love, big-boned cutie Jordin Sparks, last season’s incandescent American Idol champ, was a teenage goofball with a showbiz-savvy voice. There wasn’t much edge to her, but there was an unmistakable intangible something, and that’s what mattered. I was smitten.

But when the inevitable Idol concert tour came to Tampa — and a nightmare of an amateur-hour it was, too — Sparks headlined with a terribly blah run-through of yawners. Despite the fact that she was begowned in flowing dresses and smiling aplenty, Sparks, in a live setting, failed to hold an arena stage.

Maybe the 17-year-old was having a bad night? Maybe the FLA humidity had wilted her charms? Alas, no. Sparks’ self-titled debut is also a milquetoast R&B affair, Rihanna without the bite, Beyonce without the beats. She even borrows some of Hannah Montana’s people, but lacks the tween-pop kick and ’tude of the Disney star. If Miley Cyrus has taught us anything, it’s that there’s a big difference between G-rated and boring.

As a singer, Sparks is certainly capable; hers is a dimple-cheeked mid-range belt. On TV she displayed a genuine ability to handle such standards as I (Who Have Nothing) and You’ll Never Walk Alone. And indeed, for a showstopping span of 30 seconds on new rock ballad Permanent Monday, she teases you with highwire vocal power.

As for the rest of the album? Sigh. Her new pop songs aren’t very catchy or nuanced. Hardly anything gets faster than midtempo, so forget about slumber-party dancing. No Air, a duet with Chris Brown, mimics the “ella-ella-ella” effect from Rihanna's Umbrella, a perfect example of the creativity vacuum. Even hot producers StarGate, who helm first single Tattoo, can’t muster memorable moments.

I hate to say it, but it’s enough to make you wonder if Sparks’ unmistakable intangible something was nothing but a made-for-TV parlor trick.

LIVE REVIEW: Kelly Clarkson

I'm crushing pretty hard on Kelly Clarkson these days. In fact, as I read this review the next day, I sound like a man very much in love. She's a cutie for sure, chunky-but-funky, just how I like 'em. And I had no idea she was such a singer. Anyway, here's my rather gushy, earnest take on Saturday's show.

CLEARWATER -- Looks like Miss Independent won't be going down so quietly after all.

At a time when her once-impenetrable starpower has taken some licks, pop fireplug Kelly Clarkson is, lo and behold, having the time of her life.

At a sold-out Ruth Eckerd Hall Saturday - in front of 2,180 little girls, big girls and men who pogoed and yelped just as robustly as the ladies - the 25-year-old Texan laughed, flirted and unleashed a soulful yet remarkably controlled wail that packed more punch than I expected.

Doubters take note: This girl can sing.

She also knows how to have fun and cut loose. At one point, the singer was surprised by her opening act, John McLaughlin and his band, who streaked seminude across the stage, just a smidge of the shenanigans taking place during one of the last gigs of this tour.

"I'm the kind of person when I start laughing, I can't stop," she said. It was that kind of night.

An American Idol champ, a Grammy winner, a headstrong hit queen who has moved more than 15-million albums in four years, Clarkson is arguably the most dominant pop influence of the 21st century. Plus she proudly wears undergarments and avoids the courthouse -- bonus points!

But as far as the music industry is concerned, she came to the bay area as an underdog -- not to mention the perfect example of today's fickle celebrity machine. After two huge albums, Clarkson's third disc, 2007's "My December," has been commercially disappointing. Even worse, a tour of major arenas (including the St. Pete Times Forum) was scrapped due to lack of interest.

But if she's bitter about playing more intimate venues, Clarkson sure didn't show it. Instead, during a fun, at times ferocious 80-minute show, the curvy girl with the husky voice reinforced her rep as the antipop star, a singer-songwriter with no interest in Hollywood, but a great desire to connect with fans and show off those yowza skills.

A Brit of All Right

If you date a Brit-pop fan, and have zero idea what to get them for the holidays, here ya go, the gift that keeps on giving. A bloody brill 4CD box set from those cheeky blokes at Rhino Records. Retails for around $52. The evolution of the Brit-pop movement (at least from '84 to '99), well worth the cash.

Box set: The Brit Box (Rhino)
In stores: Now
Why we care: We here at Pop Life have a strong desire to be British. And this 4CD set, subtitled UK Indie, Shoegaze and Brit-Pop Gems of the Last Millennium, only enhances our Anglophilic daydreams. Spanning from the early '80s to the late '90s, from the Cure, the Primitives and Primal Scream to Suede, Supergrass (click for a video) and Super Furry Animals, it's a must for anyone who craves jangly, gauzy, randy heart-sleevers.
Why we like it: We've always liked such '90s acts as James, Blur and Pulp (and Oasis, the Verve and Placebo) -- all of whom appear on this box set -- so it’s a thrill to discover such early '80s Brit-pop progenitors as the Primitives, the Pale Saints and the Charlatans UK (click here for video). Cool points go to Rhino for the blinky red-phone-booth design. (There's an on/off switch on the back of the box.)
Reminds us of: "There she goes, there she goes again, racing through my brain..."
Download these: April Skies (The Jesus and Mary Chain), Sight of You (Pale Saints), There She Goes (the La's), Here's Where the Story End (the Sundays)
Grade: A

A Very Angus Christmas

Looking for a reason to throw a Christmas shindig? But can't figure out how to entertain both Grandma with the blue hair and Cousin Greg with the nipple clamps and cellblock 'tude? Have I got a solution for you...

Courtesy of Santa Claws and the Naughty but Nice Orchestra, here's the new and devilishly inspired Hell’s Bells of Christmas: The Holiday Tribute to AC/DC (on the Christmas Rock label).

A Lawrence Welkian ensemble better suited for elevator output puts jingle-jangle spin on such wicked hits as Back in Black, Thunderstruck and that tender yuletide fave, Whole Lotta Rosie. (And yes, they provide a Mistress for Christmas.) Chimes, flutes, xylophones and bells, bells, bells turn the wild 'n' whiskey-eyed Aussie icons into cheeky family fare.

Fun for a few laughs...and a few shots of eggnog. CLICK HERE to sample some clips. (There's also a Green Day version if that's more your bag.)

I'm a close personal friend of Brian Johnson, and I bet the Sarasota resident gets a kick out of this.

NEW MUSIC: Nicole Atkins

Nicole Atkins
Album: Neptune City (Columbia)
In stores: Now

Why we care: This 28-year-old NYC act has described her sound as "a girl group in a David Lynch movie." Weird, but true. There’s a heartache darkness to her songs, as well as a Spectorian grandeur and swooping string parts. The song Maybe Tonight is a marvel of shimmering pop kookiness.

(CLICK HERE to LISTEN to Maybe Tonight. You won't be sorry.)

Why we like it: David Lynch never cared about making hits, but Atkins is a showboat at heart. With a voice not unlike Stevie Nicks’ Wiccan come-on, she builds her songs from the handclaps up. And although she likes to play it cool, she can’t resist the occasional disco beat and vocal flurry.
Reminds us of: If Fleetwood Mac and ABBA started dating.
Download these: Maybe Tonight and Together We’re Both Alone
Grade: B+

Hannah Mail

Not a ton of next-day bashing over my Hannah Montana review, which ran in Tuesday's St. Petersburg Times. (Read the story here. Snapshot courtesy of Ross Mantle.)

There were the usual you-suck callers ("Well, well, well, Sean Daly, finally a concert that fits your musical tastes") and some Mommies bemoaning the inescapable merch tent.

But really, the only memorable response was this unedited missive regarding my fondness for buttocks. Enjoy.

I paid $125 for my tickets on ebay for my 6 year old grandaughter and I. My ears were not stuffed with tissue, and I had the best time I have ever experienced at a concert. My grandaughter was thrilled and so happy to see Hanna and Miley. Your reveiw showed cash cow more then the importance of how this is a nice clean venue for the children. Disney has created something nice wholesome and clean for our children. Maybe you enjoy the harsh vulger language of rap for the children which is an obsene cash cow. Or perhaps you like the pants around the knees with the butt cheeks showing.

Disney has created a wonderful opportunity for our children to enjoy there childhood and not be taught about gang bangers.

I hope you write another reveiw with a different perspective.

NEW MUSIC: Alice Smith

I'm predicting great things for Alice Smith. And while my predictions usually aren't worth a crap, this time it's money in the bank.

Still in her 20s, Alice Smith is a soul singer...and a rock star...and a jazz fan. Raised in Georgia and Washington, D.C., her musical education included James Brown, Wham! and Tchaikovsky. Sounds crazy? Well, she also sounds sublime.

On her rookie album For Lovers, Dreamers & Me, a title that's far more benign than she is, Smith unleashes a four-octave voice that can croon pop or blues or art-rock (or a blue streak, so cover your ears, kids). She’ll mix ’70s funk horns, acoustic strums and bellowing organs -- and make it sound as natural as her talent. Think Sly Stone fronting Queen -- or maybe Norah Jones on peyote buttons.

To hear Alice Smith, CLICK HERE. On iTunes, listen to Woodstock and Gary's Song.

Lovin' the Hives

Finally, a great, grooving, below-the-belt rock album.

With all apologies to the White Stripes and BRMC, I’ve been waiting all year for a straight-up, chest-out, pound-the-wheel disc like this. Something fun for fun's sake. Man, have Sweden’s Hives delivered with The Black and White Album.

Over 14 whiplash garage-rocking tracks, the nattily matched rowdies swing like the Stones on speed and name-check themselves more than Bo Diddley. All they wanna do is rock your a-- off. They've been around for a few years, but this is by far their best.

His Royal Highness Howlin’ Pelle Almqvist is frontman-as-con man, an arrogant persona with a hellbent howl and a Lothario grin.

If the Hives hammed up their "royal highness" schtick any more, they’d be a novelty band. But everything is written by the group's mysterious sixth member, “Randy Fitzsimmons,” and whoever he is (wink wink), the dude can pen one helluva rock tune.

TO LISTEN TO THE MOST EXCELLENT TICK TICK BOOM, CLICK HERE.

Alicia Keys' "As I Am"

Alicia Keys, As I Am (J Records) GRADE: A-

Prodigious R&B star Alicia Keys opens her new album with a baroque piano flurry, a fastest-fingers contest blending classical pomp with funky stomp. The album and the instrumental are both called As I Am, which turns out to be both a mission statement and a stubborn promise. Although she’s pretty enough to be a pinup and clever enough to chart with easy-bake hits, the only game she’s playing is her own.

So what we have here is another solid, safe, at times spectacular Alicia Keys album, one she describes rather boastfully as "Janis Joplin meets Aretha Franklin." The ballads (both the breakups and the back-togethers) burn with that seamless soul-kissed voice, the upbeat tracks get a good grind going and the go-girl messages are in all the right places. It’s a fine album, one of the year’s most pleasing, and it’s going bag Grammys and sell in bunches.

So why am I still a little disappointed with As I Am, her first studio disc since 2003’s The Diary of Alicia Keys?

Unfair expectations, no doubt. The 26-year-old is the rare modern pop star who’s better in concert than she is on album. She’s capable of playing anything, singing anything, a consummate go-go-go showwoman in a curvy 5-foot-5 frame. In a live setting, everything is given extra oomph, piano-playing as a contact sport. Ask anyone who’s been lucky enough to get a ticket to her show, and they’ll rave in agreement. In this day and age of one-and-done pop stars, Keys is someone will be cheering for 20 years down the road.

Ever since I saw her on a double-bill with John Legend— and then met Keys face-to-face at the MTV VMAs in Miami, where I was rendered mute and drooly — I’ve been a major Keys fan. Album after album, show after show, she keeps getting better. So I honestly expected As I Am to be her masterpiece, her Songs in the Key of Life, her Dusty in Memphis. It was the one album I had circled on my calendar at the beginning of the year. Is that fair? Maybe not. But it’s the truth.

Duran Duran's "Red Carpet Massacre"

Duran Duran, Red Carpet Massacre (Epic) GRADE: B-

Duran Duran's Red Carpet Massacre is a dirty, sexy party album about the evils of dirty, sexy parties. It's a concept disc about vanity, greed and shilling souls recorded by Brit dandies whose oeuvre is built on how rich and pretty they are.

Simon, Nick, Roger and John thumb their noses at the shallow allure of modern celebrity — and then hire Justin Timberlake and producer Timbaland to make sure it’ll burn up the vainglorious neon of the Sunset Strip.

D-Squared want to have their cake and eat it with those girls on film, too. They’re all proud, preaching fathers now; they’re also devastatingly studly rock stars who crave one last taste of MTV. Talk about a tough tightrope walk. Sometimes, when Timbaland or Timberlake or newcomer Nate “Danja” Hills is hammering out the hard hip-hop grooves — as on the grating monotony of Nite-Runner or the awkward title track— the band sounds removed, lost, as if it wandered into the wrong studio. Guitarist Andy Taylor, the band’s resident rocker, reportedly left his mates due to the new direction. What with all the programmed beats, you wonder why drummer Roger Taylor didn’t split, too.

But if Red Carpet Massacre isn't DD's best album, it’s still one of their most interesting. A big reason for that is singer Simon LeBon. His rich, slightly nasally New Romantic pleading has never sounded better — or as comfy. It’s not just the range of his voice but its time-travel ability to link where we are with where we’ve been. On such a schizophrenic album, LeBon knows exactly who he wants to be, and bless him for that.

Pete Doherty: Dumb but Talented

Turns out that Brit dumbass Pete Doherty is more than just Kate Moss's tragic enabler. With his shaggy band Babyshambles, whose new album is the rollicking riot Shotter's Nation (Astralwerks), the junkie extraordinaire (and former Libertine) is a reasonably agreeable rocker when he’s not making homemade vids of he and his gal pal hoovering mountains of blow.

Borrowing from the Clash, the Arctic Monkeys and whatever he finds down in the gutter, Doherty makes like an amiable barfly poet trying to get through his next fistfight or romance. The guitars and drums fumble and rumble with a pugilistic grace as a snarly Doherty rages and relents. Not revolutionary, but fun all the same.

The emaciated ghost of Moss (anybody think she's hot?) is a genuine presence, giving the disc a Romeo-and-Juliet-in-rehab vibe. If you're curious, you can listen to new song You Talk right here.

LIVE REVIEW: Rascal Flatts

TAMPA -- I swear the dudes in Rascal Flatts just sold me tires at Wal-Mart.

Seriously, country's current kings look like reality-show winners, regular Joes who walked through the wrong door and somehow schlepped into stardom. Singer Gary LeVox, bassist Jay DeMarcus, guitarist Joe Don Rooney ought to come with name tags and time cards.

But hoo boy, this Nashville trio is H-U-G-E. They sell music like Velveeta moves cheese, in great gooey torrents for a swoony, swelling fanbase that has made the pedestrian-looking group one of the best-selling acts, of any genre, of the last decade.

In front of 14,119 appreciative fans Sunday at Ford Amphitheatre, Rascal Flatts, on the last night of their tour, proved why they're a punch line for some but heroes to millions. And really, who cares if naysayers call you a twangy boy band when everyone else is singing, screaming and making you millionaires?

Wow, This Song Really Sucks

So I just received a top-secret package, delivered via high-powered overnight service. The new Alicia Keys, perhaps? My heart leaps at the thought (and maybe at the spicy pad thai I had for lunch).

But alas, when I open said mystery, it is but a promo slip-sleeve with a bejeweled CD announcing: SPICE GIRLS "Headlines (Friendship Never Ends)." My heart sinks at the revelation (and maybe at the Snickers I had after the pad thai).

I put said CD in the player. What comes out is slow and tinkly and phenomenally frickin' stupid, the kind of nonsong a gaggle of 12-year-old sleepover girls might make on their Wal-Mart-bought Hannah Montana keyboard. "Let's make the headlines loud and clear / The best things suddenly happen when you are here." Seriously, this might be the worst song of the year. (You can listen here -- it says "Holler" but trust me, it's "Headlines.")

I can't imagine that the SG world tour is going to do very well. Oh well, at the very least, here's a picture of Ginger Spice on a wave runner.

Britney Presents...Cool Robot Noises!

Britney Spears, Blackout (Jive) GRADE: C-

Blackout, Britney Spears' notorious new album, reminds me of one of those posthumous Tupac Shakur discs, the ones somehow released umpteen years after the rapper's death. The sales "line" was that 'Pac was a prolific craftsman and had recorded hours of extra tracks. But ultimately, his afterlife recordings sounded more like the essence of Tupac, wisps of the man patched together by big money producers.

The "essence of Britney" might work as a perfume, but her album ultimately plays like a bumptious con game. Much like Tupac, she is but a ghost in the machine, as hot knob-twiddlers such as Pharrell and Danja show up to make some hits -- perhaps while Brit-Brit was off buying bad wigs or playing peek-a-boo with the paparazzi. The album often sounds like the sexiest game of Pong you could imagine.

I have no idea how involved Britney was with this project; we know she stayed still long enough to have her picture taken for the album cover and provide breathy spoken-word intros (that really sound like they were recorded over the phone). But the truth is, we have no idea how involved she was with ANY of her albums, right? When some of your "greatest" moments involved lip-syncing, all bets are off. With all apologies to Paris Hilton, Spears is the poster-child of our vapid celebrity-driven culture, a smoke-and-mirrors game in which fan manipulation isn't nearly as tricky as the stars think. But for all the bashing Britney et al. take, we still can't look away. So who's the bigger dopes?

It's no surprise that this is a party disc -- no one was expecting a Blood on the Tracks dissection of her lousy marriage to Kevin Federline or her suspect parenting skills that led to her kids being carted away. The album is empty of ideas but fat with big beats and swirling sound machines. Unlike the new album by Carrie Underwood, Brit's biggest rival for this week's No. 1 album spot, Blackout actually serves a funtion -- it's a loud, '80s-synthy, late-night dance disc. The best tracks include Heaven on Earth and Gimme More, pulsating songs that resonate below the belt.

On the polar sex party of Break the Ice, Britney announces, "It's been awhile. I really shouldn't have kept you waiting. But I'm here now." Well, that's debatable. But at least her hot producer friends showed up, and they show a lot more respect for us than she does.

REVIEW: Carrie Underwood's Bumpy "Ride"

Carrie Underwood, Carnival Ride (Arista) GRADE: D

She loves Jesus and Jack Daniel’s, the Rolling Stones and Rascal Flatts. She’s the farmgirl-next-door from the great state of Oklahoma; she’s the legs-aplenty champ from American Idol. She sings for the single city gals; she sympathizes with the dirt-road housefraus. She plays state fairs and stadiums, working multiculti crowds with a politician’s precision and a bombshell smile.

Country star Carrie Underwood is all things to all people, which is one heck of a trick for a 24-year-old. Seriously, Willie Mays didn’t cover the bases like Underwood does. As a result, the blond looker is the best-selling musician of the last two years, her 2005 debut, Some Hearts, having sold more than 6 million copies. Hit singles ranged from religious plea Jesus, Take the Wheel to besotted revenge fantasy Before He Cheats. Each song had just enough butter-knife edge to separate them from the rest of the pop-country dreck.

Not that content mattered that much. At a time when selling albums is a Herculean task, Underwood is a marketing marvel, a product of Simon Fuller, Clive Davis and the rest of the Idol starmaking machine. She was born on television, raised on radio and nurtured by a widespread country fan base that believes in brand loyalty. As to the real Carrie Underwood, who the heck knows? She might as well be a Disney princess — which is entirely the point.

With her new album, Carnival Ride, Underwood could wind up being the top seller of 2007, too. I wouldn’t be surprised if she moves more than a million copies this first week alone. Never mind that her second disc lacks the pop punch of the first album. Never mind that it's not very clever. Never mind that it’s actually pretty dull. Underwood keeps her nose clean, dates Dallas Cowboys quarterbacks and does whatever her handlers tell her to do. And for that reason alone, she’ll remain the pop star to beat.

Miley, Shooter, J.Lo & the Crue

A smattering of housekeeping matters...

The letters and vitriol are pouring in regarding my Sunday 1A story on the Hannah Montana ticket imbroglio, brouhaha, hot mess. You can read that ferocious bit of investigative journalism here. Make sure to read all the surly parents sounding off at story's end.

If you missed Sunday's epic LISTEN TO THIS in the Latitudes section of your trusty St. Pete Times, you can find that here. Reviews include Robert Plant & Alison Krauss, Shooter Jennings, Bob Dylan, Jennifer Lopez, the Pipettes and She Wants Revenge.

Bucketloads of new musical crap continue to pour in to Pop Life central. I'm trying to weed thru the lot, giving away what I don't need. But I have severe OCD, so right when I'm about to toss a reissue of Electric Light Orchestra's Balance of Power into the giveaway bin, I imagine a future interview with Jeff Lynne and pull back. I'm a sick, sick man. Anyway, here are today's new CDs...

Motley Crue -- Carnival of Sins Live (2CD)
Eric Clapton -- Complete Clapton (2CD)
Aretha Franklin -- Rare & Unreleased Recordings
Jimmy Eat World -- Chase This Light
Marc Cohn -- Join the Parade
Kenna -- Make Sure They See My Face
Chicago -- Best of Chicago: 40th Anniversary (2CD)
Darlene Love -- It's Christmas, Of Course
City Sleeps -- Not an Angel
Sick City -- Nightlife