By Anthony Benigno

As hip-hop gets more and more ornery, there’s something refreshingly old-school about three of the greats working their magic over bare-bones beats. “Wu-Massacre” isn’t a proper Wu-Tang record, but it’s almost better that way; the Clan’s troubled ’07 album “8 Diagrams” faltered amongst reports of clashing egos, so having just Method Man, Ghostface and Raekwon show up on “Wu-Massacre” means less cooks in the stew, which translates to a much more efficient album.

And clocking in at a half-hour, “Wu-Massacre” is nothing if not efficient. The verses are fast and furious, the beats are sparse and vicious, and familiar guest stars (the Wu’s Inspectah Deck and a bizarro cameo from comedian Tracy Morgan) pop up for some great cameos. Hip-hop fans who grew up in the Auto-Tune era are likely to hate “Wu-Massacre,” which plays out a lot more like a ‘90s rap record than one from the 2000s. There are a few samples here and there – the MJ one on “Our Dreams” is particularly effective – but that’s about as gimmicky as it gets.

Instead, the album is anchored in Meth, Ghost and Rae’s lyricism, which hasn’t diminished a bit. The guys spin B.I.G.-esque yarns on “Miranda” and “Pimpin’ Chipp,” and the finale “It’s That Wu Shit” is a great throwback gem. It’d be a lie to say the whole thing doesn’t seem a bit outdated as rap moves further and further away from the gangsta trend, but that doesn’t diminish the precision with which the guys go about their business. The time for an album like “Wu-Massacre” may have come and gone, but it’s still pretty nice to have it all the same.

Merge Records

By Sedera Ranaivoarinosy

When actresses suddenly decide they want to sing, there are legitimate reasons to worry. It’s easy to try to make profit off a prominent personality, even by having them do something they might not be great at.

Zooey Deschanel has always sang; her goal when studying drama in college was to do musical theater. And while she first had that “actress to singer” apprehension when She & Him’s Volume One came out in 2008, she passed the test with flying colors.

But now she must face the other hurdle music journalism has imposed on recording artists – the sophomore album test. And all is good, She & Him’s Volume Two doesn’t disappoint.

Deschanel and M. Ward, known for his own folk singer-songwriter skills, have worked out a perfect team arrangement: she writes, he produces. The combination offers fresh pop songs that bring back the sound of the 60’s with their use of harmonies, reverb and even a cover of NRBQ’s “Ridin’ In My Car”.

“Don’t Look Back” is the quintessential surf rock tune, and feels like it was taken from a Beach Boys’ album. “Lingering Still” even sways into a Hawaiian mood. Everything feels sweet on this album, whether she’s singing about dysfunctional love in “Thieves”, or wasting time in “I’m Gonna Make It Better”.

The record has a wonderfully playful, almost childish quality. The call and response game between the piano melodies Deschanel plays and Ward’s sharp guitar riffs makes you bob your head from side to side without you even noticing. It’s perfect for times when you’re feeling down. Deschanel’s voice is beautiful and clear and all the arrangements are slick and polished while staying simple enough so you can sing along.

By Anthony Benigno

Like any punk band worth their salt, the Dropkick Murphys live are loud, rude, and crude, which makes for great mosh pit antics but has the unfortunate effect of drowning out their (well-constructed) music in sound and fury. So the most remarkable thing about their live record, “Live on Lansdowne, Boston MA,” right off the bat, is how fantastic the whole thing sounds. The production on the album is phenomenal; the songs sound rawer and rock harder than they do on the studio record, yet listening to them is a much softer experience than if you were actually at the show.

Recorded during their six-day, seven-show stand in Beantown on the week of St. Paddy’s Day 2009, “Live on Lansdowne” captures the Murphys at their most powerful. The track list favors the songs over band-audience banter, so it’s tough to get a sense of the group’s fabled camaraderie with its fans. An easy mistake to forgive here, since the album is a catchy listen all the same.

There are a few things to nitpick at. Sometimes the mix exaggerates the Murphys’ Celtic accoutrements over the rock n’ roll ones (Tim Brennan’s guitar gets shafted early and often by the tin whistle and pipes), which doesn’t work as well as you might expect. The accordion on “The State of Massachusetts” is jacked up to 11, which makes the song sound more like a pirate jig than the welfare-anthem it happens to be.

Luckily, there’s little time to dwell on the record’s faults, since the Murphys are barely out of one song before they blast into the next. Fan favorites like “The Dirty Glass,” “Johnny, I Hardly Knew Ya” (the heaviest thing here) and “Captain Kelly’s Kitchen” sound great, and singer Al Barr’s craggy voice sounds full and powerful on the album’s best track, “Bastards on Parade.” The whole thing is a ride worth taking despite its polarizing heaviness – the album barrels along its 20-track length with no respite for the weary but is accessible enough for non-fans as well. By the time hell breaks loose on the finale “I’m Shipping Up to Boston,” you’ll either be begging for mercy or a bona fide believer.

By Anthony Benigno

Three albums into their career and a lot of people still aren’t sure what exactly Gorillaz are. They should just be the guys who wrote “Feel Good, Inc.”…but they’re cartoons and therefore can’t really write anything. It’s possible that they’re just Damon Albarn’s pipe dream-version of a side project, but they’re getting to be really good songwriters and musicians, so it’d be stupid to write them off that quickly. The only other possibility is that they are actual gorillas, but that’s a stretch.

Whatever they are, Albarn’s Gorillaz are still going strong nine years into the proceedings. Their third album, Plastic Beach, is, much like their previous two (Gorillaz in 2001 and Demon Days in 2005), a crazy-ass hodgepodge of musical styles that sometimes soars, sometimes sinks, but is, for better or worse, unlike anything else out there.

The boys are starting to get some clout, too, judging by the amount of guest stars on the record. Mos Def and Bobby Womack (whoa!) elevate the oddball single “Stylo” to greatness, and Snoop Dogg delivers a dizzying rhyme on “Welcome to the World of the Plastic Beach.” Even Mick Jones from the Clash stops by on the title track.

Sometimes the whirlwind of synths and strings and Lord knows what else does get tiring, and at 16 tracks, Plastic Beach could have benefitted from some editing. In fact, there’s some kind of enviro-friendly parable/concept album in here somewhere, but good luck deciphering the whole thing through the layers and layers of effects.

But the band is at its best when they turn things down. The breeziest, saddest and possibly the best track on the album is “On Melancholy Hill,” a lonely little heartbreak ditty with distorted vocals and a sparse, boppy synth line. As Albarn (or 2D, or Murdoc, or whoever) sings “well you can’t get what you want, but you can get me”, it’s a sentiment that every lonely heart romantic can relate to.

Those Gorillaz! They’re just like us after all.

Life after fart jokes has been a bit of a rough one for Tom DeLonge; his second band Angels & Airwaves launched in 2007 with lots of fanfare (DeLonge predicted they would change rock n’ roll forever) but mixed results. Despite a minor hit or two, the grandiose-sounding group never found the same success as Blink-182 did. However, you’ve got to give DeLonge credit: now three albums in, it’s clear his Angels & Airwaves aren’t just a one-and-done side-project; they’re the real thing, at least in principle. He’s committed to keeping them going.

And Love, the band’s third outing, is a big step forward for them. For the first time, A&A don’t sound like they’re trying to be U2; instead they sound like a group with a style all their own. All of the songs on Love are immaculately structured; the production this time around is airtight, and the album flows together very nicely. If radio stations ever get a hold of the rather lovely “Shove,” then who knows? DeLonge’s boys might just have a chart-topper on their hands.

The problem, as it has always been, is that the guys still take themselves a bit too seriously, and the whiff of pretentiousness that has always surrounded A&A is still there. The opening instrumental “Et Ducit Mundum Per Luce” is really quite good, but its name, in Latin, translates to “and lead the world by light.” Erm, OK?

There is one notable improvement here: the band has finally figured out to properly structure their songs around DeLonge’s voice, an element which has frequently tripped up their proceedings in the past. Everything sounds fantastic, even if the lyricism is sometimes hit-or-miss. On the bright side, the closer “Some Origins of Fire” proves that DeLonge does have at least one great arena ballad in him. Love may not be a many splendid thing, but it’s still probably Angels & Airwaves’ most important record to date: they sound like they’re starting to finally turn into the real deal, even if they still haven’t quite found what they’re looking for.

FAT POSSUM RECORDS

By Sedera Ranaivoarinosy

Adam Green’s latest release, Minor Love, is an odd combination of kitsch 70s pop, folk, blues and DIY rock. And it’s wonderful.

The New York based singer-songwriter goes from writing Simon and Garfunkel-like tunes in “Don’t Call Me Uncle” to singing to compositions influenced by African music in “Goblin” while also incorporating Gospel keyboards in opener “Breaking Locks.” The electric “Oh Shucks” even sounds similar to White Stripes recordings from their 2003 release Elephant.

But through all this diversity of influences, a definite homemade feeling comes out of this album. Green’s singing style is much closer to speech than his previous dabblings into crooner vocalizations. These days, he sounds more like Lou Reed than Frank Sinatra. And although the arrangements are still pretty rich, they are nowhere near as flamboyant as they were on his previous release Sixes and Sevens.

In a little more than half an hour, Green packs his sixth LP with 14 very tights songs. The tone is a little darker than usual, with allusions to substance abuse in “Buddy Bradley,” where he compares himself to the alcoholic comic book character, or the caption “Nothing Lasts” accompanying the centerfold picture of the booklet.

But Adam Green remains the most absurdly charming singer associated with the anti-folk movement. Not many singers can sing “She got in my face/Then punched me just like goblin” and pull it off.

American Recordings/Lost Highway

By Sedera Ranaivoarinosy

American VI: Ain’t No Grave compiles the last leg of recordings Johnny Cash made with bearded super-producer Rick Rubin before his death in September 2003. Released a few days before what would have been his 78th birthday, the songs in this record are particularly relevant in a posthumous album.

Most of the songs are covers; Cash sings Sheryl Crow, Kris Kristofferson or even Elvis Presley. He speaks of death, evaluating life and prospects of afterlife.

The eponymous opening song is extremely moving. As he sings, “Ain’t no grave/ Can hold my body down,” the lines rings truer as we realize that more than seven years after his death, his recordings are still worth a listen (or many more).

His voice may be shaky but the clear sound of the guitar and breezy arrangements enhance all the emotion it carries. Here is a man at peace and ready for death but still living as much of life as he can as he puts these songs together.

The highpoint of this record is his version of “A Satisfied Mind,” which was originally recorded by Porter Wagoner. When the lyrics “But there’s one thing for certain/ When it comes my time/ I’ll leave this ol’ world/ With a satisfied mind” arrive, they bring a sense of comfort and relief about how he may have felt before he died, especially since it is common knowledge that his life was no bed of roses.

Once influential artists die, everyone in the recording industry is always rummaging around for those unearthed, confidential recordings, advertised as gems but mostly chosen for their sales potential. Buy this album before the really opportunistic (and honestly not very groundbreaking) compilations hit the market. These songs are the ones you want to have; they truly capture the raw energy that made Johnny Cash such a passionate and moving performer.

Ethereal vocals and poetic lyrics craft Beach House’s newly released Teen Dream. This is the third album by the Baltimore indie pop outfit comprised of Victoria Legrand and Alex Scally.

The duo creates calming compositions that put the listener at ease. In the band’s single, “Norway”, Legrand’s voice lightly layers itself on top of already beautiful drum and guitar instrumentals. Distorted, yet mesmeric guitar harmonies played by Scally add to the dreamy quality and accompany the chanteuse as she starts the first verse.

Beach House complements its ambient sound with expertly composed verses rivaling that of Lord Byron. “Lover of Mine” starts off with, “Hear my cry, lover of mine/no tear in my eye or fear in my mind/the forest is thick and you don’t recognize/we parted our lips and reached from inside.” Okay, nobody can compare to Lord Byron, but there is no denying the romanticism created and the Valentine’s Day dedication potential in this song.

Teen Dream provides great background music for such amorous times (according to its MySpace, next to “Sounds Like”, it says “making out”), but it also offers a soothing soundtrack for just lying in bed. Period. After listening to this album by Beach House, you will want to revisit it again and again.

Two years ago, Lil Wayne’s cockamamie plan to make a rock album called Rebirth has raised a lot of eyebrows and a lot of questions. Does Wayne know the first thing about how to make a rock song? And even if he does, would it be any good? And even if it were, why would the self-proclaimed Greatest Rapper Alive decide to try his hand as an axeman?

The answers: more or less, yes, and because he felt like it. Wayne can structure a solid rock song as well as he does with rap; it’s his lyricism that needs work.

For the most part, Wayne takes a page from Fred Durst’s book and spins emo-esque tales of a high school loner and the girls who reject him. “Prom Queen,” the album’s first single and biggest hit, sounds like a seventh-grade dork anthem: lost, hurt, and a little confused. In other cases, it seems like he wrote a bunch of hip-hop lyrics and tried to sing them, which can make for some awkward moments. Rapping the line “hey Barbie/are you into black men?/hey Barbie/well I can be your black Ken, ” is a feasible task; it’s the kind of clever wordplay we expect from Lil Wayne. Slathering Wayne in Auto-Tune and having him singing those lines is a less appealing idea.

Still, even with the missteps, Rebirth is a mostly positive endeavor. It’s hard not to admire Lil Wayne’s tenacity and passion even for a project that, at least at the moment, is a little outside his range. And, when a song clicks, Wayne fires on all cylinders (why the eerie, funky “Hot Revolver” was dropped from the album remains a mystery). “Drop the World”, for example, is a solid rocker (minus that terrible hook) and features a furious guest spot from Eminem.

There’s also “Ground Zero,” the album’s best track and one of the few that manages to blend his rap lyrics and rock-star style into something that works. Over a pounding drum beat and squealing guitars, Wayne snarls, “walk on air/show me to the edge and I’ll walk off there.” Maybe that’s a clue as to why he tried something like Rebirth; who knows? In any case, it’s applicable. He doesn’t quite fly this trip off the edge, but chances are he’ll take the leap again, so it’s probably best to think of Rebirth as a test run of sorts.

Ready to shock-rock like it’s 1999? The late ‘90s are long gone, but Rob Zombie, one of the patron saints of horror metal, is still hard at work pumping out kitschy, thumping arena-shakers with titles like “Werewolf, Baby!” and “Mars Needs Women.”

As if to illustrate his point, he’s named his latest record Hellbilly Deluxe 2, a sequel to his 1998 solo debut. These days Zombie is less known for his music than his budding career as a cult filmmaker, but HD2 shows he’s still going strong as a rocker.

Granted, there’s nothing here as iconic as “Dragula,” but Zombie at least does the smart thing and overloads the record with as much schlock as he can; the big misstep of ‘06’s Educated Horses was trying to play it straight.

This also means that nothing on Hellbilly Deluxe 2 is particularly new. In fact a lot of it is basically retread; most of it has been done better before by Zombie or others. Still, there are pleasures to be had. The single “What?” is perfect mosh-pit fodder, and in a perfect world, the chorus “Mars needs women/angry red women” would be the new “Pants on the Ground.”

It all adds up to about what you’d expect, which turns out to be both a knock against the album as well as a mark of its success. Hellbilly Deluxe 2 is kind of like those cheesy haunted houses at carnivals: they’ve long lost their luster as something genuinely unsettling, but there are still worse rides out there. In any case, it’ll make the Ozzfest crowd go nuts just the same.