Cat Power

You Are Free

Matador

Cat Power’s first album of original material in five years is a stark, chilling gem.

As in 1998’s The Moon Pix, Chan Marshall mostly plays the soulful chanteuse, laying sultry vocals over aching down-tempo rock. The two covers—John Lee Hooker’s “Crawlin’ Back Spider” (renamed “Keep on Runnin’”) and Michael Hurley’s “The Werewolf Song”—show off Marshall’s unique take on the blues, with her fragile voice accentuated by well-placed string arrangements. Still, the album finds welcome release when she lets loose her punchier tendencies on tracks like “He War” and the superb “Speak For Me.”

Marshall’s lyrics address a variety of topics, but the songs are united by a theme of liberation. “Free” celebrates catharsis through music (“Just be in love when you scream that song on and on”), while “Good Woman” is a refreshingly optimistic breakup song, replete with children’s choir. Though “Names” takes on the challenging subject of child abuse, it is perhaps the album’s only misstep. Despite their good intentions, the lyrics are regrettably over-the-top and the song comes off as comically maudlin—like a disastrous combination of Tori Amos and 10,000 Maniacs.

But even “Names” is forgivable on an album this excellent, especially with the closer “Evolution,” an emotionally stark duet with Eddie Vedder. Like Cat Power’s best work, the song draws immense power from the simplicity of the music and the icy beauty of Marshall’s vocals.

—Christopher A. Kukstis

Murs

The End of the Beginning

Definitive Jux

True to form, the latest release on Definitive Jux subverts expectations. On The End of the Beginning, Murs’ debut album on the fashionable NYC label, the Living Legends rapper forges a new style fully removed from those of his likely influences.

Absent is the tripped-out drug rap of the L.A.-based Living Legends crew. Likewise, the bleeding-wrist confessionals of collaborator and tour partner Slug are difficult to spot.

Tellingly, Murs describes his music as “Sitcom Rap.” And he indeed delivers on his claim that, like Seinfeld, he can “take elements from everyday life and make it entertaining.” One only wishes that Murs had a more meaningful everyday life. With songs about compulsive shopping for Star Wars: Episode II action figures (“B.T.S.”), amateur skateboarding (“Transitions of a Rider”) and seratonin reuptake inhibitors (“Happy Pills”), the album is slim pickings for compelling topics.

What saves the album is the solid (if predictable) production and the distinct sense that Murs is being honest—a rare and valuable trait in a rapper. On the single “God’s Work,” Murs raps about paying off his rent, his car and his gas money. The chorus features one of his few Slug-like moments: “I work hard / goddamn hard / so I can wile out every weekend and buy drinks at the bar.”

Sadly, this glimpse into Murs’ complexity is hardly developed on the rest of the album. Given its shortcomings in the content department, The End of the Beginning is best enjoyed—as Murs implies—like a good situation comedy. It’s not an awful way to spend an hour, but don’t expect to learn much.

—Michael S. Hoffman

Richard Ashcroft

Human Conditions

Virgin

Richard Ashcroft is like a filmmaker who’s had enough of directing commercials. Human Conditions is Ashcroft’s feature-length epic, an album that dispenses with lightheartedness in favor of profound philosophical meditations.

Gone are lyrics like “the drugs don’t work/they just make you worse.” Instead, Ashcroft writes songs that ponder “the human condition, the big decisions”, as he summarizes in his opening track.

Despite this shift to more universal themes, though, the style of music has essentially remained the same. Nearly all of the songs on Human Conditions are laid-back rock ballads supported by strings and brass, an approach that has become almost synonymous with Ashcroft’s name since his days as frontman for the Verve. In fact, there is only one track on the album, “Bright Lights”, that even comes close to being an upbeat rock n’ roll anthem.

Regardless, it’s clear that the downtempo rock ballad is Ashcroft’s specialty—and for good reason. Few rock artists can so effectively wield an orchestra as thematic element, and even fewer have (as Ashcroft has done) managed to compose memorable instrumental lines that utterly complement the vocals.

By confining himself to rock ballads, however, Ashcroft denies his listeners the stylistic variety that a musician of his talent could easily handle. Human Conditions is a great album, but without more musical experimentation in future works, it could be his last real success.

—Gary P. H. Ho

Zion I

Deep Water slang, vol. 2

Raptivism

The star of Deep Water Slang, Vol. 2, the new album from Oakland hip-hop duo Zion I, is producer Amp Live. Amp juggles diverse textures, tempos and musical idioms, lacing the album with complex yet infectious beats. Though MC Zion’s nasal staccato and superior rhythmic sensibility are well suited for these rich backdrops, it’s ultimately the music—not the words—that fuel this lush and energizing record.

Zion I hinted at their potential on their 2000 debut Mind Over Matter, with brilliant tracks like “Silly Puddy” and “Trippin’.” But while that album might well have been shortened into an EP, Deep Water is virtually devoid of filler.

“The Drill” is one of many standouts, setting epic pizzicato strings against a swirling synth, while “Finger Paint” balances distorted guitar with warm female vocals. Thankfully, Amp rescues “Sorry” (an apology to Zion’s ex-girlfriends) from the realm of tired cliches, laying an ethereal flute and keys over violins and a crunchy boom-bip. MC Zion particularly shines on “Dune,” a haunting proclamation of socio-political apocalypse. The song’s chorus finds some hope among all the despair: “Cadillac, prison guards, Mumia behind bars / We in charge, live for God, no matter how hard.”

Deep Water is a rare achievement in underground hip-hop, at once accessible and cutting-edge—and if there is any justice in the world, it will bring Zion I, and especially Amp Live, loads of recognition.

—Michael S. Hoffman