The above-mentioned Black Keys are not the only blues-rock duo of note in our musical universe, of course. Jack and Meg White have made the White Stripes almost a household word, what with Jack’s winning way with melodies and guitar licks and the duo’s eye-catching and memorable penchant for dressing only in red, white, and black. Jack apparently wanted to venture beyond the sound of his duo, however, and recruited the rhythm section of the Greenhornes, along with fellow Michigan songwriter Brendan Benson, to form the Raconteurs. Their first album, Broken Boy Soldiers, was a relaxed, yet hard-charging trip, combining strong, “Beatlesy” melodies (Benson’s strong suit on his own excellent solo albums) with dirty, “Rolling Stonesy” grit and spittle.  The whole affair came across as so casual and knocked off that one couldn’t help but develop a fondness for it. But the follow-up record, Consolers Of The Lonely, is a whole different affair. Sounding anything but casual, with tinkling pianos, overwrought guitar solos, mariachi and Broadway-style horns, fiddles, and whatever else can be thrown into the mix filling up every nook and cranny, this album is overstuffed to the point of  bloating. And that’s not to mention the orchestral passages redolent of Queen and keyboard parts that sound straight out of the Emerson, Lake, and Palmer school of bombast. Where Broken… took a minimalist route, Consolers… goes all maximalist. Where Broken… barely broke the thirty-minute mark, Consolers plows along for over an hour. This is not to say there are no redeeming qualities to Consolers…, as the principals involved are, to be sure, outstanding talents. White unveils some of his best slide guitar work yet, and when Benson and White harmonize, as they do on many choruses, all is forgiven. And while the final song, “Carolina Drama,” stretches on a little too long, it is an excellent foray into a sort of story-telling balladeering that feels exactly right for this combo. But overall, Consolers Of The Lonely is a perfect example of when too much is, in fact, too much

The guitar and drums duo of Dan Auerbach and Patrick Carney have always gone for a minimalist approach to blues-rock, as befits their being only two people in the band. Crashing drums and searing or pounding electric guitar lines have been their stock-in-trade, and their excellence in pursuing this path has never seemed like much of a limitation when listening to their previous albums. With the addition of Danger Mouse (one –half of Gnarls Barkley) as their producer and co-conspirator on Attack and Release, however, we find out that, yes, sometimes more is better. Not that Danger Mouse has overloaded Attack and Release with symphonies or guitar armies. In fact, crashing drums and spare, yet searing guitars still dominate and drive the proceedings as before. When keys, synths, banjo, percussion, and even clarinet and flute are added to the mix, Danger Mouse’s genius is in largely keeping them as a sort of deep, sonic backdrop to the main event. And it is this added depth to the Black Keys formula that makes this album such a compelling listen. “All You Ever Wanted” starts the album with a soft voice, acoustic guitar, and lightly tapping percussion before storming in with drums, guitar, and heavy organ chords.   But the acoustic guitars and percussion never really go away, filling up the space (along with various keyboards) beneath the Black Keys’ stomp to glorious effect. The same technique is employed throughout the album, often giving each song its own unique feel, whether it be the “haunting” blues of “Strange Times” or the layered, echoing backdrop to “Psychotic Girl”. Despite this, it is obvious that Danger Mouse loves the basic sound of the Black Keys (he contacted them to see if he could work with the duo), with some songs (e.g., the appropriately titled “Remember When”) sounding almost identical to the Black Keys of old. All of this lends a variety to Attack and Release not present on their previous albums. And while these albums have all been outstanding in their own right, Danger Mouse proves his excellence as a producer by propelling this album beyond its forebears, but without losing any of the essence that makes the Black Keys what they are—a primal blues-rock juggernaut.

The Soulsavers are an English-bred production duo who have previously specialized in downtempo electronica. Their sophomore effort, however, strays far beyond this territory thanks to the addition of former Screaming Trees/sometimes Queens Of The Stone Age/current solo artist Mark Lanegan on vocals (and lyrics). Lanegan’s smoky baritone always lends a dark, foreboding, even funereal presence to his musical undertakings, and this album dives deep into this abyss. With elements of folk, blues, country, and particularly gospel stirred into the drum loops and cinematic sweeps employed by the Soulsavers, It’s Not How Far You Fall… provides us with a rich, yet unsettling foray into Lanegan’s twin themes of penance and sin. “Revival” opens the proceedings with a drum crash and church-like organ, with Lanegan intoning “Say there’s gonna be a revival tonigh/Ohh-oh/I wanna see a revival,” and then lets the music sweep him away into the details of his quest.  “Ghosts Of You And Me” follows with a honking sax wailing in the background while feedbacked guitar loops provide the foreground for Lanegan’s talk of black cat bones and thoughts like “The cemetery is my home”.  Lanegan’s own “Kingdom Of Rain” is a beautiful piano-led ballad underscored by depressed musings such as “This rain beats down like death.” Film-noir-like instrumental passages add to the atmosphere, as do a surprising duo of covers. Tom Waits’ “Through My Sails” actually provides a momentary bit of uplift, as Lanegan and Will Oldham (aka Bonnie Prince Billy) sing a slow but optimistic love song, accompanied by steady bass and superb slide guitar.  The album closes with a tour-de-force version of the Rolling Stones’ “No Expectations,” transforming it from a country-blues to a haunting groover. So when you’re in the mood for something dark, yet musically superb, “It’s Not How Far You Fall…” will fill the bill in fine fashion.

Stephen Malkmus headed up Pavement, one of the most seminal indie-rock bands of all time. Pavement was most often characterized by Malkmus’ off-handed lyricism and winning way with a melody. Occasionally, however, Malkmus would indulge his guitar jones. This seemed to happen most often when the band was lacking a full bag of catchy tunes for their next album. On Real Emotional Trash, on the other hand, what we have is an album chock-full of good tunes AND Malkmus putting down the best guitar playing of his career. The album is full of solos both short and long, taut and stretched out, all the while surrounded by great melodies and tight ensemble playing. The addition on drums of Janet Weiss, late of the much-missed Sleater-Kinney, may be key in this development, as Malkmus may well have found a musical foil with skills equal to his own. Whatever the reason, Real Emotional Trash ranks right up there with the finest work of Malkmus’ career. Opener “Dragonfly Pie” starts things off with a heavy metal-like riff, which gives way to a nursery rhyme chorus (with marimba!), which then circle back to the riff. And in the middle and end, a few loud and beautiful guitar solos find their place. Second song “Hopscotch Willie” seemingly tells the story of so-named small-time crook who says, “Can’t blame me for my guilty face/It was a gift from my mother and my father in place/Of all the love they should have given/They just left me with this dirty DNA”. It starts with a strummed acoustic and great tom-tom work by Weiss, and the adds some very sweet slide work, before concluding with another amplified wig-out. Tune after tune follow in this vein, contrasting sticky sweet hooks and melodies with indie-rock guitar-god excursions.  One gets the feeling that these songs will be powerhouses when played live.

Take the best parts of Black Sabbath, mix with the Velvet Underground, Led Zeppelin and 80’s heavy metal, sprinkle lightly with Pink Floyd (keyboards), David Bowie, and Kansas(!),  and, voila,  Black Mountain results. While this reviewer generally treads lightly on referencing past bands’ sounds as a guide to current groups, Black Mountain openly proclaims their influences, both in print and on wax/disc. The trick, of course, is not just to “rip off” these influences, but to integrate them into something unique, and, with In The Future, Black Mountain achieves this goal in excellent fashion. Sabbath is the closest comparison, as In The Future resounds with heavy, heavy riffs, melodic vocals, and acoustic interludes, just like Paranoid, Volume 4, and Master Of Reality, the albums Sabbath made when they were at the top of their game (i.e, when Ozzy was in the band). But there are also differences, particularly when Black Mountain’s Amber Webber lends her female pipes to cushion the musical heaviness. And then there’s Jeremy Schmidt’s inventive, “churchy” organ parts which underlie so many of the group’s brilliant riffs. Add in drummer Joshua Wells’ fondness for martial beats to go along with his 4/4 pound, and you get heavy-metal goodness heretofore unheard in the new millennium. The album opener, “Stormy High,” starts with a plucked, reverbed guitar, which gives way to a straight-ahead beat and a chunky riff, all of which leads to a beautiful choral refrain which plays off against the heaviness to wonderful effect. It is this balance between bludgeoning riffs and beautiful interludes that goes on to define the rest of the album. Everything comes together in their 16+ minute epic “Bright Lights,” which moves effortlessly from riff to drone to heaviness and back again. Then the album closes with “Night Walks,” which contains some of the gentlest music on the album, headed by Webber’s gorgeous voice. While Black Mountain’s previous album and EP were both fine achievements, it is with In The Future that all their musical elements come together to provide a fine statement of heavenly heaviness and bombastic beauty. Black Mountain are clearly in it for the long haul. On the evidence of this album, it looks like it will be worth our while to tag along for the ride.

The Wrights is the second album by the Nashville-based, husband-wife duo of that name. Even with Alan Jackson as a champion, major label RCA wanted more of a contemporary hit sound (with guest writers) for the duo and, when they wouldn’t comply, they were subsequently dropped. This may have been the best thing that could have happened to the Wrights on the evidence of their new album.  Filled with strong, punchy originals that contain fantastic duet singing (think George and Tammy, or Gram and Emmylou) and strong pedal- and electric-guitar playing, this is a country album that will turn your head around from the first note onward. The melodies and harmonies are often bluegrass-derived, but the music is a neat split between traditional country and more rock-oriented, alt-country outings. Lyrically, the main topic is the country staple of marriage and its temptations. “Do You Still” asks “You said ‘I Do,’ but do you still?” and “You’re The Kind Of Trouble” (covered by Solomon Burke on his Nashville album) proclaims the “You’re the kind of trouble/I could get into”. “Planting Flowers” is a gently acoustic beauty, but the rest of the album roots-rocks hard and straight. Now if only Alan Jackson could get them on the radio where they belong

Ethan Miller is apparently an inspired musical polymath. Miller is lead guitarist and frontman for Comets On Fire, one of the prime movers in the neo-psychedelic movement within indie rock. His feedback-laced, guitar-driven excursions for that group are rightly championed as examples of how to build on an established form (the psychedelic movement of the sixties/seventies) without sounding derivative. Amazingly, Miller is also able to pull off this same trick with his other band, Howlin Rain. In this case, however, the root of his musical inspiration lies in the blues-rock template of the late sixties/early seventies. Drawing on traditions established by a long list of Englishmen (Rod Stewart before his glam phase, Joe Cocker, and particularly Clapton/Derek and the Dominoes), Miller takes this blues-rock bed and layers it with tasty helpings of southern-rock and jam-band formulations (possibly inspired by his growing up in Humboldt County CA). Somehow, it all works a treat. This is largely due to the bands ability to keep the songs short and sweet. Miller’s raspy blues voice (strongly recalling Rod Stewart), lays into catchy, riff-driven songs, most of which are punctuated with concise, bluesy solos a la Clapton or even the Allmans’ Dickey Betts. Little evidence of psychedelia is found anywhere here (although the last song does end with a feedback drone).  The album opener, “Requiem,” takes off from a riff-heavy Hammond B-3 (used to great effect throughout the album) and combines its sound with stinging blues lines. Second song “Dancers At The End Of Time” finds Miller using his shouty blues voice to great effect, while many of the subsequent songs sound like they could be excellent Derek and the Dominoes outtakes, with their clean, occasionally twin guitar leads and vocal pleas to “Have mercy on my soul”.  The production is appropriately clean yet with some fuzz still attached. Who knew that this psychedelic wunderkind could also put out one best blue-rock recordings in recent memory? Indie-rockers may sleep on it, but for those with a hankering for Clapton, Stewart, or the Allmans in their prime, this will do very nicely.

Radiohead’s In Rainbows is a landmark album. Not because of the way it was initially distributed (more on that later), but because of the absolute quality of the album itself. It harkens back to the days when the biggest, most talented music groups on the planet would cement their iconic status by releasing a new album that could be seen as a step forward in their own work while, at the same time, being very different and inventive in comparison to the work of their contemporaries. In Rainbows is that type of album and its release makes it clear that Radiohead is that type of group. Warm and rocking, tender and angry, symphonic and spare, inviting yet full of alienation, all of these qualities can be found in nearly equal measure on In Rainbows. It is that balance that propels it into the top rank of this decade’s releases. For example, Thom Yorke has always been an excellent purveyor of feelings of alienation. But on In Rainbows he is now able to express desire with skills equal to his expressions of estrangement. Johnny Greenwood’s guitar playing, while always strong on hooks and anthemic qualities, now also encompasses moments of hushed tenderness and folk-like simplicity with equal skill. In Rainbows also showcases the under-appreciated drumming of Philip Selway. Nearly every song starts with a soft, usually syncopated beat accompanied by either by voice or an instrument. But those beats then mutate into whatever the song calls for, be it fierce rock punch or gentle percussive shadings. The overall effect of these combinations is to carry the listener through the range of emotions that Radiohead is expressing. And all this is done within 45 minutes. Songs do not outstay their welcome, but say their piece and then make way for the next. While there is experimentation in the air, no song relies solely on such for its impact. In Rainbows first two songs capture nearly all of these elements. “15 Steps” starts with a syncopated beat followed by Yorke’s vocals. Then a beautifully melodic, yet muffled, electric guitar line enters. As the song builds, the drumming maintains the unsettling syncopation without sacrificing any drive. Crunching percussive sound effects add to the mood, as does a wobbly church-like keyboard abetted by simple guitar hooks. “Bodysnatchers” follows this with a straight-ahead beat and beautiful spare guitar lines. as well as plenty of understated “ooh-ahh” vocalizing from Yorke. The song then churns into a fierce, full-on rocker with overlapping lead lines and Yorke’s powerful wails. Further songs continue, each with their own distinct character but all sounding like the work of a group completely in tune with its own strengths (and probably weaknesses as well—note the brevity of the songs here). In sum, this writer thinks that In Rainbows in Radiohead’s strongest musical statement yet. It may not have the transformative power that OK Computer had upon its release, but this album will last for years as a statement of just how good this group is.

Ah, but what of the transformative implications of its distribution, wherein In Rainbows was initially released (way back in early October) only as a download, and one where the buyer could name his or her own price? There is little doubt that future artists will increasingly take advantage of this model. But one also needs to look at Radiohead’s own statements on the matter before we get too carried away. Such a release strategy definitely helps combat the unauthorized, leaked distribution of new works. It allows the artist to capture some of the available rewards for their work by doing the “leaking” (being on the internet before being in the stores) themselves. But even Radiohead have confirmed that they were always planning to release the album on CD/vinyl, AND THAT THEY ANTICIPATED THEIR FANS WOULD STILL BUY IT in these formats and not limit themselves to the inferior sound quality of digital downloads (compression takes its toll on sound quality). Sales to date seem to validate their point. This is a good reminder of how the internet used to be talked about as the “information superhighway”. When it comes to quality of listening experience of digital downloads, this seems to be a valid metaphor. The transportation superhighway makes it much quicker and convenient to get to your destination, but what is sacrificed is the wealth of detail experienced by traveling on the slower, less convenient existing roads. Similarly, the internet allows for a quick, convenient way to get and experience music, but there is much detail lost by relying on this as the only vehicle for listening. Higher quality download files are surely yet to come, but compressing files to make them transportable may always be a factor. Thus, for those who LIKE music, the internet may be the perfect vehicle for them to get it, but for those who LOVE music, its imperfections are all too apparent (many make the same argument when comparing CDs to vinyl). This does not, however, lessen the problems for major label record companies. Such companies have transformed themselves from focusing on giving music LOVERS what they want (an easier focus to maintain when the companies were, themselves, controlled by fellow music lovers) to focusing on music as a mass-market commodity, which means tying their existence to selling hundreds of thousands of copies to people who only LIKE music. Indeed, the industry often cites Michael Jackson’s Thriller as the template for what makes a record company profitable. Not that Thriller is a bad album musically. But no one can really think that its massive success was based on sales to music lovers. Rather, it was based on sales to the more casual fan. It is that fan that the internet serves well, and it is for that reason that big record companies may have an unsolvable problem on their hands. Long live the smaller, music-loving labels.

Banhart has become one of the main faces of the neo/freak/psych folk revival of the new millennium. With his quavering, vibrato-led voice being an instrument of beauty, and his undeniable song-writing talent, this is no accident. But on Smokey Rolls Down Thunder Canyon.” his fourth or fifth album (depending on how you count EPs), Banhart has put out a record that both encompasses and transcends the limits of any such genre tags. Smokey… has beautiful, lilting sambas, show-tune melodies, doo-wop stylings, gospel choruses, gentle reggae, white-boy blues that recalls both prime period Traffic and late period Beatles, as well as gentle folk songs. Indeed, at 16 songs long, Banhart’s latest is stuffed to the bursting point with musical gems, with instrumentation including strings, horns, and woodwinds. But with that voice, each song sounds like it is coming from  a delicate, almost other-worldy  place, a place that Banhart wants to show us can include childlike naivete (the brilliant, multi-part “Seahorse”), dumb fun (“My Shabop Shalom Baby”), sigh-inducing beauty (“Samba Vexillographica”), love-fuelled longing (‘Bad Girl”), and mature reflection (“I Remember”). Smokey… is an album that creates it’s own idiosyncratic world and invites us to enter into it via Banhart’s stunning musical gifts. And once you visit, you’ll want to keep coming back.     

Demonstrating his usual off-beat attitude, Young’s new album is titled as if it were a follow-up to Chrome Dreams. Problem is, there never was an official album called Chrome Dreams. Originally slated to be released in 1977, Young reputedly shelved it after Joni Mitchell criticized it as being too “all over the place”. Well, after the recent genre excursions of Prairie Wind (soft, country-flecked rock), Living With War (loud protest rock) and Living With War Redux (the same stripped to its acoustic bones), he must have felt it was time to deliver an “all over the place” album. And he does so in brilliant fashion. Chrome Dreams II encompasses the varieties of musical styles Young continues to explore, but puts them all in one place. From Crazy Horse style blow-outs, including epic guitar solos, to folk-rock musings, to country picking, to gentle songs of love and faith, Chrome Dreams II is Young’s most musically satisfying album in two decades. Of course, this may be partly due to the fact that, in addition to newly penned tunes, some of the songs recorded here, in fact, stretch all the way back to the seventies and eighties. Whatever their provenance, the songs are strong and the playing is fine. Indeed, Young’s guitar playing on the two centerpiece epics presented here, the 18+ minute “Ordinary People” and the 13+ minute “”No Hidden Path,” is as fierce as anything he’s done since “Like A Hurricane,” which the latter, in particular, recalls. While about half the songs revisit the Crazy Horse stylings of past albums, many others veer in other directions, such as the almost lullaby-like “Shining Light,” the melodic country lilt of “Beautiful Bluebird,” and the child-choir finale of “The Way”. “Ordinary People,” itself, while perhaps the finest rocker on the album, departs from the usual Crazy Horse template by having Young’s guitar solos framed by a pounding horn section and saxophone solos. While the musical stylings on Chrome Dreams II may be varied, the lyrical focus is much more unified. “No Hidden Path” centers on Young’s determination that love and faith can still lead the way and offer succor in these times, and numerous other songs see Young recognizing that life is a journey on which we are trying to find the “highway,” “road,” or “street, (all are mentioned repeatedly) which leads one to such succor. In sum, Young, supported by long-time cohorts Ben Keith and Ralph Molina (with a nice guest shot by Frank “Poncho” Sampredo), intentionally or not, has put out an album which encompasses much of what he’s been doing for the forty plus years since he started out with Buffalo Springfield. And what more can you ask for than that?