R. Kelly Happy People/U Saved Me (Jive)
It's official: R. Kelly has split up. His latest two-CD set has two titles and two missions: Happy People aims for dancing and romancing, while U Saved Me calls for fervent prayer. Instead of trying to mix his secular and devout sides, as he did on his 2003 album, Chocolate Factory, he has chosen to separate them almost completely.
Like so many rhythm & blues superstars -- from Little Richard to Al Green to Prince -- Kelly has long been a divided soul, endlessly trying to reconcile carnal impulses with Christian faith. Also like Prince, Kelly makes most of his music by himself in the studio, while drawing freely on the history of soul. There's plenty of gospel in Kelly's music, most obviously on his megahit "I Believe I Can Fly"; practically everything else, from 1995's "Bump N' Grind" to last year's "Ignition," is a smoldering make-out groove.
But in the earthly realm, Kelly has had nearly as much trouble as Michael Jackson. Since 2002, Kelly has faced pending charges of child pornography, stemming from a videotape that purportedly shows him having sex with an underage girl. His album after that, the suavely deranged Chocolate Factory, tossed together lust, tributes to monogamy, praise for God and a little bit of gunplay.
The new double album, unfortunately, shows more control. Whether it's a heartfelt conversion or his latest spin strategy, Kelly is doing his darnedest to stick to positive thoughts. He avoids the profanities that peppered Chocolate Factory, and he is committed to coming across as a nice guy.
Happy People, the disc aimed at radio and club play, shows a professional smoothie at work; it's slick, insinuating and ultimately a little tepid. Nearly every song uses the rhythm of steppin', the Chicago dance that Kelly is determined to spread to the world, making the disc sound like a spinoff of "Step in the Name of Love," from Chocolate Factory. The steppin' groove stays on the slow side of midtempo, and the subdued, steady pulse puts Kelly in full Marvin Gaye mode: not just the crooning but the invocation of love as both sexual intimacy and goal for mankind.
Kelly wants everyone to visit "Love Street" and to send out "Love Signals," and he insists that universal concord would prevail "If I Could Make the World Dance." He hasn't given up come-ons -- "The Greatest Show on Earth" is a slow-motion ballad set in his bedroom -- but compared to his lubricious past, Kelly is downright PG this time around.
But the turbulent, soul-searching Kelly hasn't disappeared. He's all over the gospel testimonies on U Saved Me. "3-Way Phone Call," which starts the disc, isn't a menage a trois but a sung conversation in which two devout women, portrayed by Kelly Price (as Kelly's "sister") and Kim Burrell (as Price's "prayer buddy"), cajole a reluctant Kelly into staying strong and praying harder. "Trouble follows me," he moans; "Trouble can follow where you lead," Price admonishes. Then, as the three voices entwine and rise, a simulated choir kicks in, Kelly pleads, "I've sinned/Forgive me!" and a grand crescendo resolves all doubt.
Kelly is the master of the ultraslow groove, and the songs on U Saved Me take their time, then use gospel's strategic buildups to sweep Kelly toward faith. They tout prayer and salvation as miracle cures for alcoholism, cancer, unemployment, thuggery, domestic abuse, even a basketball player's poor grades. And Kelly sounds humble throughout U Saved Me, as if he's willing himself to believe as much out of desperation as conviction. "After I've been so bad, O Lord/How did you manage to forgive me?" he groans. It's gospel testifying, not courtroom testimony, but where Happy People only exercises Kelly's technique, U Saved Me adds some heart. (JON PARELES)
Steve Earle The Revolution Starts . . . Now (Artemis)
The cliche is that rockers don't make protest music like they used to. Maybe that's because they turn it out too slowly. Steve Earle's roiling The Revolution Starts . . . Now shows how rousing, angry songs can spring from the one-take heat of a recording session. An unrepentant anti-careerist, Earle was emboldened by the controversy surrounding his 2002 terrorist portrait "John Walker's Blues." Here he takes dead aim at Iraq and war, with only a few breaks -- notably a romantic-interlude duet with Emmylou Harris. The rugged guitar tunes resemble a cow-punk update of the Clash, and Earle's song-to-song perspective shifts dazzle: from a hapless truck driver caught in the conflict to a common grunt and a universalized "Warrior" to an honest declaration of lust for Condoleezza Rice that's as deliciously blunt as her recent blurt about being married to the president. Recorded in the immediate aftermath of the Abu Ghraib scandals, The Revolution Starts . . . Now is easily the most potent roar about Iraq so far. (MILO MILES)
Clinic Winchester Cathedral (Domino)
These surgical-mask-clad Liverpudlians debuted four years ago with the delightfully spunky Internal Wrangler, a well-focused salvo of mutant garage rock, cheapo electronics and precise hooks, only to get all dark and droney on 2002's Walking With Thee. Winchester Cathedral strikes a bit closer to the debut's Radiohead-on-Benzedrine feel, but much of the time it sounds like Clinic are just playing around with their noisemakers and not having much fun. Although "The Magician" and the guitar-driven "WDYYB" get by on high-strung grooves, atmospheric slow-burners such as "Home" and "Falstaff" sacrifice oddball charm for dull moodiness. Clinic have succumbed to what they once fended off so well: art rock. (CHRISTIAN HOARD)
Donovan Beat Cafe (Appleseed)
Of all the Sixties' folk-rock troubadours, Donovan was the hippiest and dippiest, chirping brilliantly batty tales of death ("Season of the Witch"), drugs ("The Trip") and magic faraway lands full of dancing wizards ("Atlantis"). He was the Nick Drake who didn't die but became a star instead, and he still makes a comeback album every decade or so. On Beat Cafe, Donovan shows he's got the old touch, with titles such as "Yin My Yang" and windy acoustic musings from his own private world: "The lights are low/The music is cool/And the chicks are slow." Ah, some things never change. (ROB SHEFFIELD)
Guided by VoicesHalf Smiles of the Decomposed(Matador)
Half Smiles of the Decomposed is reportedly the final Guided by Voices studio album, and like many of the band's best, it's packed to bursting with sometimes inscrutable pleasures: melodies with the whiff of half-remembered classics, misbegotten home-taping experiments, arrangements that appear to collapse before resolving in brave choruses and, in "Window of My World," the baroque folkie musings of a psychedelic jester. With lyrics that sometimes veer into gibberish ("Fit me into your thimble/I'll be your comeback trail") delivered in a fake English accent, GBV guiding light Robert Pollard sometimes sounds like a prog-rock throwback. But he's less of a word splicer than he is a general mischief-maker, a fabulist who sees songs as brightly painted reality-distortion knobs. So long, for now. (GREG KOT)
Billy Joe Shaver Billy and the Kid (Compadre)
Even non-believers have to admire devout Christian and Texas songwriting legend Billy Joe Shaver's faith. The man has endured a seemingly unbearable amount of tragedy, losing fingers on a long-ago manual labor gig, then losing his mother, wife, and son between 1999 and 2000. Son Eddy, 38, was Billy Joe's musical partner in the band Shaver, and had been working on recordings of his own when he overdosed on heroin. Billy Joe finished these sessions and released Billy and the Kid, adding vocals and lyrics where necessary. It couldn't have been easy, and at times the words choke him up, like on the acoustic ballad that opens the disc ("Fame"). The project is a celebration of Eddy Shaver's talent, and his torment. Eddy was an extraordinary electric guitarist who could be searing ("Velvet Chains") or contemplatively bluesy ("Necessary Evil"), and invoked Southern rock heroes like the Allman Brothers ("Eagle on the Ground") and ZZ Top ("Step On Up"). His tough, beautiful voice is the most haunting on "Baptism of Fire" -- you can hear the tug of war between sex, drugs and God over Eddy's soul. (MEREDITH OCHS)
Twilight Singers She Loves You (One Little Indian)
Greg Dulli takes pride that the Shortstop, the bar in Los Angeles he co-owns with friends, has the city's best jukebox. This covers CD shows why. Dulli and mates, including Mark Lanegan on several songs, offer their interpretations of artists from Bjork and Fleetwood Mac to Marvin Gaye and Nina Simone. The album opens with a surprisingly tender version of "Feeling of Gaze," a song from Hope Sandoval's unheralded Bavarian Fruit Bread album of 2001. Dulli regains the swagger fans have come to expect of him on a street-fighting rendition of Martina Topley-Bird's "Too Tough to Die." Though Dulli shows real love for the originals, the band also turns the songs inside out, twisting Bjork's "Hyperballad" into an intoxicating pop/rock anthem and infusing Mary J. Blige's "Real Love" with a Seventies rock strut. It all comes together on Simone's "Black Is the Color of My True Love's Hair," which is transformed into a sweaty howling wail of desperation, love and horniness. (STEVE BALTIN)
Boyz II Men Throwback (MSM Music/Koch)
Many acts, over time, grow up to be parodies of their former selves. A select few grow up to be parodies of other bands, too, as is the case with Boyz II Men, perhaps the best-known R&B group of the Nineties. Throwback is a collection of mechanical, ineffectual covers that hardly tweak, and rarely improve on, the originals. Lowlight: A Latin-style evisceration of Jacko's "Human Nature." (JON CARAMANICA) Whirlwind Heat Flamingo Honey (Dim Mak)
Detroit's Whirlwind Heat have way more in common with Stooges Larry, Moe and Curly than Iggy's band. After three years of worldwide touring with the White Stripes and a Jack White-produced big label debut, these tricksters have followed the fanfare with an indie EP of ten one-minute songs. Townie Brendan Benson helped the group wrestle the written-in-the studio music to tape; the whole thing took five hours. Barring jokes about time investment, the Heat fashion a rock sound on just bass, keyboards and drums -- no guitar. Some of it passes for great garage rock riffage (distortion fests like "Muffler" and "Meat Packers") and adventures in sound manipulation ("Flamingo Lawns"), while other bits sound like a slap bassist's practice tape ("No Gums," "Ice Nine" and again, "Muffler"). Life is short, and Whirlwind Heat get that; Flamingo Honey is worth its ten minutes. (DENISE SULLIVAN)
The Sadies Favourite Colours (Yep Roc)
If something smells Phishy on the new Sadies album, it's probably the tight and melodic jams that open and pepper it. There is of course other finery in this booty of loosely labeled alt-country: the late-Sixties-style hippie rock of "Translucent Sparrow" that the band flawlessly transforms into Tex-Mex with the help of a catchy, lazy trumpet; Kinks-ish tunes laced with acoustic guitars ("Why Be So Curious") and even cowboy theme music, which leaves the saloon door swinging on its hinges with lyrics like "The angels killed the devils/Hung them in the streets/And reveled in the blood lust and the fires of revenge" ("1000 Cities Falling"). Robyn Hitchcock guests and adds to the spooky romance with vocals and lyrics -- "Why would anybody live here?/Only you and your eyes" -- on the final track. Combining American groove rock with spicy Western flavor, the Sadies have created yet another eerie and epic piece of work. (ROBIN AIGNER)
West Indian Girl West Indian Girl (Astralwerks)
At best, debut albums are often promising collections that hint at a band's potential. Then, every once in a while, a band comes out of leftfield and nails it on its first try. Such is the case here. This collection of sweepingly, sun-drenched sonic pop is one part early U2, one-part Jane's Addiction, one-part Electric Skychurch and 100 percent Southern California. Processed guitars, cascading keys and blissful melodies contribute to the starry, ascending quality of the record, while analog synths and melancholy harmonies keep the tunes from straying too far into a world of pretty irrelevance. Naming themselves after an intense strain of LSD, West Indian Girl's affinity for altered states is apparent throughout: "Slow down/You'll be alright/It's summertime/Let's trip tonight" goes the aptly titled opener "Trip." And while their lyrics aren't exactly inspired prose, this is a stunningly psychedelic first effort -- and hopefully one the band will be able to live up to. (LESLIE HERMELIN)
Tift Merritt Tambourine (Lost Highway)
Bramble Rose had the hipsters swooning and urban cowboys' hearts a-breakin' back in 2002, when this alt-country-pop goddess first sashayed, impossibly beautiful onto the scene. Her follow-up is a bigger-sounding, more celebratory outing produced by Black Crowes' guru George Drakoulias. While still colored in country, Tambourine also rocks, rolls, souls, boogie-woogies and funks. But unfortunately, the record's up-tempo nature and nuance-killing rock-star production values expand Merritt's artistic horizons at the expense of emotional depth. Like fellow North Carolinian James Taylor, Merritt's tender voice is more suited to the poetic turn of phrase found in quieter, grittier songs. Not to suggest that this sophomore effort is a misadventure: the horn-backed "Your Love Made a U Turn" and the honky-tonk blow-out that is the title track will bring the house down when she tours live. Here the chanteuse simply decides to follow the sage advice of Johnny Cash: When you get the blues, get rhythm. (TODD SPENCER)