Universal Audio

The Delgados

(Chemikal Underground Records / Transdreamer Records)

The voices on Universal Audio—the light, airy voice of a girl alternating with the melodic voice of a guy—might remind audiences a little of Belle and Sebastian, but for people wary of the precocity of B&S, The Delgados offer a much more driving alternative: Lean chords paired with swelling choruses are backed by adequate, but controlled, production, the result of which is a CD of smart pop. Although the Delgados have previously ventured into the layered terrain of orchestral pop, their new work is a study in how to construct a three-minute, self-contained piece of pop for the masses.

Guitarist Emma Pollock’s vocals are neither precious nor overwrought; she sings with a straightforward style that fits well with the music, which is fairly simple without seeming watered-down. She has a few moments of transparent beauty on “Come Undone” and “The City Consumes Us,” the latter a song that frames her lilting voice with arpeggios to fit the slightly melancholy mood. Although Pollock sometimes affects (whether consciously or unconsciously) Nina Persson of the Cardigans, and although she is by no means an amazing vocalist, it’s comforting to note that she doesn’t try too hard in extending her voice or her credibility.

Guitarist Alun Woodward has a few moments of soaring vocals recalling Scotland’s other pop music export, Travis, but The Delgados never wander into their shoegazing territory. The album’s two strongest songs, Woodward’s “Is This All That I Came For?” and Pollock’s “Everybody Come Down” run back to back, a choice that does much to remind listeners of good ol’ pop—singable, hummable and, most of all, with just a touch of sadness not ruining the fun.

—M. Patricia Li

Saul Williams

Saul Williams

(Fader Label)

When Saul Williams last graced us with his words, in the form of the glorious epic poem, “, said the shotgun to the head,” he gamely disproved the notion that black male artists are nothing without their masculinity.

“i am a simple disoriented man in her presence,” Williams wrote in one particularly honest passage, “i wear my loincloth over my eyes and ejaculate too soon.” And in stirring renditions of the poem at the Paradise Rock Club and here at Harvard last year, Williams performed what amounted to a public emasculation. “The truth erupts from her core,” Williams cried, and his audience could only agree. Now, Saul Williams wants his penis back.