I’ve been waiting for this to show up on YouTube since the night it aired. Hallelujah:

Taj Mahal - Maestro (Heads Up, 2008)
purchase this album (Amazon)

Maestro celebrates Taj Mahal’s 40th anniversary as a recording artist, and true to contrarian form, Mr. Mahal has elected not to follow the traditional route for this sort of release — best-of, re-recordings, etc. — and opted instead to head into the studio with a few special guests to cut some new sides and prove he hasn’t been around too long to kick a little ass. The dozen-song album follows a protracted layoff between recordings for Mahal, which is unfortunately nothing new; since alienating his label in the ’70s — and filing a precedent-setting lawsuit against Bill Graham to boot — he’s flitted in and out of the periphery here in America, often recording for rinky-dink outfits or labels without U.S. distribution.

In Heads Up, Mahal has found a label that isn’t a household name, but boasts a pipeline to the deep pockets of the Concord Music Group, as well as an eclectic, jazz-tilted roster that includes Fourplay, Ladysmith Black Mambazo, Hugh Masakela, and George Duke. A label comfortable dealing with artists who don’t fall squarely into a single genre, in other words, which is exactly what Mahal needs to give Maestro an outside shot at selling a healthy number of units. Well, that and the famous names attached to the songs — Taj enlisted the aid of some trendy guests this time around, including Ziggy Marley, Ben Harper, and Jack Johnson. (more…)

Ben Folds - Way to Normal (Epic, 2008)
purchase this album (Amazon)

Ben Folds has always been an artist I’ve appreciated more in theory than in practice. I’ve appreciated the theory enough to continue buying his albums for almost 15 years now, so I suppose the distinction is almost too fine to matter, but still — I can’t remember a time when my purchase of a Folds album didn’t result in a rush of immediate gratification (example: hearing “Jackson Cannery” in 1995 and thinking “Jesus, yes! Someone remembers how to play a piano”) followed by a vague but persistent sense of disappointment (example: the way I felt after hearing “Rockin’ the Suburbs” for the fifth or sixth time).

Folds’ last album, Songs for Silverman, has been a bone of contention among his fans since it was released in 2005; for some, its largely placid soundscapes signaled a leap forward in maturity for the fortysomething father, while for others, it was a cold hash of MOR ballads and self-conscious attempts at humor. But even at his most awkwardly divisive, Folds always manages to get in a solid punch or two — I confess to getting a little choked up the first time I heard Silverman’s daddy-daughter track, “Gracie,” and even if it was mostly just because my wife and I had our first child that year, you get the point: He may not always be able to get out of his own way, but Ben Folds has sharp pop instincts, which is why his fans expect so much from him.

I may not be a hardcore fan, but I was more than mildly intrigued by the prospect of Folds’ latest, Way to Normal — enough so that I ponied up the $30 for the “deluxe edition” version that comes bound in book-style binding and includes a DVD (which I will almost certainly never watch). I could have harassed a publicist for a free copy — probably even a free advance copy — but I was so sure Folds was going to bounce back from Silverman that I was willing to lay my money on the line.

Folds, you fucker. You’ve scammed me again. (more…)

It’s long been claimed as the official dessert of Boston, but it was created by a French chef — so even if you’ve never actually eaten one, you know the Boston cream pie has more to do with an appreciation for the sinfully decadent than, say, providing a sensible after-dinner complement for corned beef. It’s a circular monument to gluttony, a layered celebration of all things lacking in serious nutritional value. It’s irresponsibility on a plate, and it’s all kinds of awesome.

If you’ve ever tried to make a Boston cream pie, you know they’re also a pain in the ass to put together. I looked up a random recipe at AllRecipes, and counted over 20 ingredients and seven steps; unless you’ve got an afternoon to kill, or are specifically seeking out a dessert so labor-intensive that you earn it by making it, you’re liable to seek out something simpler.

For instance, a Boston cream pie you make in your toaster.

Ah, yes, the Toaster Strudel. For kids of my generation, who thought Cookie Crisp was the apex of the dessert-as-breakfast food subgenre, Toaster Strudels represented a new frontier. Of course, Toaster Strudels aren’t really strudels at all — they’re more like flakier, even less nutritious Pop-Tarts — but only the most annoying 10-year-old on the planet cares about stuff like that. The bottom line is that Toaster Strudels are stupidly delicious, even if you don’t squirt the pack of crack-laced icing that Pillsbury thoughtfully includes for each Strudel. (more…)

Beau Jocque and The Zydeco Hi-Rollers - Give It To Me from Pick Up on This! (1994)
Pictures And Sound - It’s You from Pictures and Sound (2008)
Bel Auburn - Lullaby In C from Lullabies in A & C (2006)
Ralph Stanley - Swing Low, Sweet Chariot from Shine On (2005)
Bill Purdy - Move My Way from Move My Way (2008)
Raphael Saadiq - Let’s Take A Walk from The Way I See It (2008)
Billy Pilgrim - Hard Rain from In the Time Machine (2001)
Richard Shindell - You Stay Here from Somewhere Near Paterson (2000)
Bob McGrath - Hi Friend from Bob’s Favorite Street Songs (1991)
Rickie Lee Jones - Stewart’s Coat from Traffic from Paradise (1993)
Brian Eno and John Cale - Lay My Love from Wrong Way Up (1990)
Rodney Crowell - The Rise And Fall Of Intelligent Design from Sex & Gasoline (2008)
Bruce Springsteen - Buffalo Gals from The Seeger Sessions (American Land Ediition) (2006)
Ry Cooder - Going Back To Okinawa from Get Rhythm (1987)
Dan Baird and Homemade Sin - Damn Thing To Be Done from Dan Baird and Homemade Sin (2008)
Sunny Day Sets Fire - Smallest Heart On Earth from Summer Palace (2008)

30 Rock - Season Two (Universal, 2008)
purchase this DVD (Amazon)

I know a lot of you aren’t watching this show, and I understand — I skipped out on it for most of its first season. I had two reasons for this: One, I stopped watching Saturday Night Live after Will Ferrell left, thrust into a deep funk by the prospect of no more Celebrity Jeopardy! sketches or George W. Bush impressions, and thus miissed most of Tina Fey’s best work on the show; and two, I decided I only had room in my life for one series devoted to the behind-the-scenes goings-on at a sketch comedy show, and opted to follow Aaron Sorkin’s Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip instead.

As you may have already guessed, I started having second thoughts about halfway through Studio 60’s only season, and sometime around John Goodman’s arrival as a loquacious small-town sheriff, I decided it would probably be a good idea to see what was happening on the SNL-inspired series that stood a snowball’s chance in hell of making it to Season Two. I had reservations — aside from a few insane outbursts during “Brian Fellow” sketches, I’d never found Tracy Morgan the least bit funny, and since suffering through The Shadow, I’d made a habit of studiously avoiding anything involving Alec Baldwin.

Surprise, surprise — Morgan and Baldwin are the two best parts of 30 Rock, as evidenced by the following clip from Season Two, a comedic tour de force for Baldwin: (more…)

Joshua Radin - Simple Times (Mom & Pop, 2008)
purchase this album (Amazon)

When Joshua Radin’s new record, Simple Times, arrived unbidden on my doorstep, I assumed the worst, because there are a number of reasons to hate Radin’s music. I will list several of them for you now:

1. Almost every song on his debut album, 2006’s We Were Here, sounds like the same goddamn watered-down Iron & Wine track.
2. He was given his first big break by Zach Braff, who sucks.
3. Did I mention that all his songs sound the same?

So, as you can see, I listened to Simple Times with extreme prejudice, and expected to hear 45 minutes of Radin whispering over chords gently strummed at the same tempo. Surprise, surprise — young Joshua has gone and written us a batch of actual songs this time, mixing the hushed ballads (like “You Got Growin’ Up to Do,” which features Patty Griffin) with some moderately uptempo poppy folk songs, and even sticks his tongue in his cheek for a few minutes with the kinda cute “Vegetable Car.”

Make no mistake, Simple Times isn’t a huge departure from We Were Here — but it does show a clear leap in Radin’s songwriting and performing. He’s probably never going to move completely away from the doe-eyed love songs — which is as it should be; his voice was made for them — but at least he isn’t double-tracking his vocals on every song, and he’s started exploring wider melodic territory. Hell, some of the songs even swing a little.

The end result is a perfectly pleasant little record that I’ve played probably a dozen times back-to-back without getting tired of it. Radin’s style of music occupies such a narrow bandwidth that its appeal is fairly limited, at least for me — but it’s perfect for reflective moments, sunrises, and sunsets, and there’s plenty to be said for that. Give “Sky” (download) a listen while you mellow out in your hoodie and American Apparel t-shirt.

Tony Lucca - Come Around Again (Lucca Music, 2008)
purchase this album (CD Baby)

Like a lot of white suburban teens, I spent a good portion of the early ’90s in a state of wild-eyed musical confusion, huddling in the corner with my Van Halen and Billy Joel CDs while scary, pissed-off dudes like Kurt Cobain and Ice Cube yelled at me over a chorus of screeching Corgans. Those were dark, troubled times — years when I’m fairly certain I must have wondered on at least one occasion why more acts couldn’t sound like Toad the Wet Sprocket.

That was a long time ago, and I have long since ceased to pray for a plague of sensitive dudes with guitars to descend like Gap-attired locusts upon the airwaves. Apparently, however, prayers take a few years to reach the Big Guy, because since the late ’90s, we’ve witnessed an incredible proliferation of singer/songwriters, the likes of which haven’t been seen since James Taylor had a mustache. Even for someone who was raised on this stuff, and who has a higher-than-average level of appreciation for good old-fashioned songcraft, it’s gotten out of hand — I’m running out of different ways to say an album is competently written and tastefully performed, but not all that different from Dude With Guitar X, Y, or Z.

Which brings us to Tony Lucca, and what is apparently his sixth album, the recently released Come Around Again.

Lucca was a member of the next-gen Mickey Mouse Club known simply as MMC, where he performed alongside Britney and Justin, but his music is rooted in rock and Wonder Bread soul, not sugar-frosted R&B; if you can make your way past the album cover, which makes it look like Chad from the IT department had a few too many Spider Monkey Margaritas at the office holiday party, you’ll find that Lucca’s a rather talented guitarist and vocalist. His songs, meanwhile, are a bit of a mixed bag. (more…)

Creedence Clearwater Revival - 40th Anniversary Reissues (Fantasy, 2008)
(six separate CDs — see below for purchase links)

Okay, first things first — I realize the image above is for the Creedence box that was released a few years ago, which has nothing to do with the new 40th anniversary reissues. But what was I going to do, build one giant image out of all six album covers? That’s just too much work, even for you, my dear friends — and it would look ugly besides.

Anyway, looks aren’t important here; what really matters is how thoroughly Creedence kicks ass, and how these six reissues act as a sort of Voltron of classic rock, coming together to form a yellow-eyed, beer-toting S.O.B. with the meanest fake bayou howl you’ve ever heard and the lead guitar to match. (Of course, if CCR’s catalog is Voltron, then that means Pendulum is Voltron’s ass, but hey, even a yellow-eyed S.O.B. needs to sit on something every once in awhile.)

It’s been an awfully long time coming, but decades of animosity between lead Revivalist John Fogerty and his former (now current) label have finally come to an end. Now that Fogerty doesn’t have to contend with legendary rock & roll anus Saul Zaentz — and now that Fantasy is owned by the deep pockets at the Concord Music Group — the Creedence catalog are being polished off and restored to their rightful place in the label’s crown. CCR seems like it’s been around forever, and many of its songs have been played so many times that they’re taken for granted, but try to wipe your slate clean, take a step back, and goddamn — would you look at that catalog? Six albums, released in under five years, and just filled to the brim with stone cold classics. (more…)

Nina Simone - To Be Free: The Nina Simone Story (Legacy, 2008)
purchase this album (Amazon)

Nina Simone made her concert debut in the early ’40s, as a 10-year-old girl named Eunice Kathleen Waymon. It was a less racially enlightened time all over the country, but little Eunice lived in North Carolina, which meant that as the concert hall filled up with white folks, her parents were forced to move to the back. And what did our young heroine do? Motherfucker, she up and refused to play until they were given their seats back, and that tells you pretty much everything you need to know about the spirit that moved — that moves — the music of Nina Simone.

Simone had the sort of recording career that usually befalls outspoken, hard-to-pigeonhole artists, which means she played at the commercial fringes most of the time, and passed through the rosters of a rather long list of labels (Mercury, RCA, CTI, and Elektra, just to list the bigger names). The artist and her music have been frequently misunderstood, although that has as much to do with Nina herself — how many artists can go from “My Baby Just Cares for Me” to “Mississippi Goddam” in a single lifetime and count on their audience to follow along? — as it does with fickle pop tastes. Because it’s so varied, and because the copyrights are so scattered, she’s never had a truly definitive compilation, but thanks to Sony’s Legacy imprint, that all changes here.

(I feel like this must be the dozenth time I’ve sung Legacy’s praises this year, but I swear to God, you guys, I’m not on their payroll; I’m just giving credit where it’s due. Sony’s reissue arm has come a long way since its days of embarrassing, half-assed product, and 2008 has been a banner year for the label.) (more…)