MM..Food?

MF Doom

(Rhymesayers)

A supervillain, single-mindedly devoted to taking over the world; a recluse, never appearing in public without his trademark metal mask; a mad genius, never sleeping so that he can work in his lab all day and night: these are the images maintained by MF Doom. While every aspect of the comic book persona may not be true to life, the description of his work ethic is: MM..Food? is his ninth (ninth!) LP in the last two years, all released under various aliases. Even more impressive than the quantity has been the quality, as all of these have been anywhere between good (the Special Herbs instrumental series) and phenomenal (this year’s collaboration with producer Madlib, Madvillainy).

MM..Food? is no departure from form. The production (by Metal Face Doom himself on 12 of the 15 tracks here) is direct and sample-oriented. This is the anti-crunk: trebly, chill, metallic and hyperaware. Guest appearances, a frequent crutch employed by much of current hip-hop, are mostly absent; this guy has verses to spare anyway, why clutter the track with less-skilled MCs?

Lyrically, Doom’s leitmotif is, well, food. All the track names are culinary, and food metaphors are frequent in his intricately (some would say randomly) internally rhymed flows. What this fixation means depends on how much credit you give him. It could either be a simple, nonsensical way of unifying the album, showing that he can rap about absolutely anything, or it could be a comment on the state of hip-hop. With radio rap big on adolescent lyrics of sex and violence, is a Sesame Street-sampling song about cookies an attempt at out-immaturing Juvenile?

The album is something less than cohesive, using every tone between dead serious and comical. Sincerity sinks “Deep Fried Frenz” (not even Kanye West would rhyme “codependents” with “codefendants”) right after a truly funny misappropriation of Cole Porter and some of the best sound collages in recent memory. The Metal Fingered Villain is definitely good at what he does, but this isn’t his masterwork. Here his prolific release schedule works against him, as there are so many other Doom albums to compare his latest against. Virgins to his work are fully advised to check out February’s Madvillainy first. If MM..Food? is a letdown, it’s only because he has set the bar so high. Like the man says, “these metal fingers be holdin’ hot shit.”

—Eric Fritz

Love, Angel, Music, Baby

Gwen Stefani

(Interscope Records)

No Doubt’s Tragic Kingdom came out when I was in sixth grade, and it was one of my earliest CD purchases. Simultaneously an addictive pop album and an interesting if not terribly coherent concept piece, it still pops up in my playlist from time to time.

But replacing her band with a random mix of producers has not been kind to Gwen

Stefani or her new solo album, Love, Angel, Music, Baby. It is, with slight exceptions, a nearly unlistenable piece of crap. It inspires a trancelike state of boredom punctuated by forehead-slapping grimaces of sympathetic embarrassment at its colossally stupid lyrics. The pain starts with the opening track, “What You Waiting For,” which opens with a generic beat and leads into a repeating chorus of “take a chance, you stupid ho.” It’s followed by “Rich Girl,” an excruciating cover of “If I Were a Rich Man” from Fiddler on the Roof. In case you don’t remember, there was a techno song a few years back that was more or less the same exact thing. Stefani’s version is just as annoying as that one was, and is far less original to boot.

Then we get her strange attempt at a Queen anthem, “Hollaback Girl,” complete with a “We Will Rock You”-style stomped intro and a riff and lyric from “Another One Bites the Dust.” Then, Stefani sings lines like “Uh-huh, that’s my shit/all you girls stomp your feet like this” and my favorite line on the album, “the shit is bananas/B-A-N-A-N-A-S.”

One of the least horrible tracks on the album, “Bubble Pop Electric,” owes much to the contribution of Andre 3000, who appears here in his Johnny Vulture alter-ego. It’s got a fun, driving beat and a great Jamiroquai-esque chorus, but yet again the lyrics slaughter it. The song’s meaningless title is spoken over and over in the chorus, which generated confused looks and questions of “what the hell?” from anyone who was in the room with me while I was listening to it. And then there’s that one line that ensures you should never play this CD with your parents in the room, or while hooking up: “I want to blow you now/I want your candy cream.”

In case you still want to buy L.A.M.B., here’s the recap: the album is completely derivative, and it doesn’t even do a good job of ripping off the music it tries to copy. Stefani wants to be the next Madonna with her sex-obsessed lyrics and electronic synth beats, but she loses the thing that got No Doubt its fans and made Stefani famous: her innocent-yet-knowing sexiness and clever lyrics. It’s a sellout as disappointing as Jewel’s or Liz Phair’s, and far less pleasant to the ear.

Trust me, this shit is bananas—B-A-N-A-N-A-S.

—Michael A. Mohammed

Stars Look Down

Stars Look Down

(Blackfly Records)

This album is growing on me. Slowly, admittedly, but not imperceptibly. When I first put the disc on, I was dismayed by the guitars, overly saturated with distortion and punk-pop sensibility. It didn’t strike me as Blink 182 necessarily, but the same simplistic chord progressions were evident, as were the fuzzboxes and somewhat predictable guitar and drum breaks. Now, a few days later, I’ve gotten better acclimated to this, the first release from Stars Look Down. I’m still not enthralled with frontman Trent Gay’s voice or with the hardly-changing guitar sound and tempo, but the melodies are making more sense to me and the chord progressions feel a little bit catchier.

SLD’s sound isn’t altogether easy to define; there are elements of Built to Spill, U2 (in the soaring guitar riffs), various pop-punk bands, and even 3 Doors Down. That is to say, SLD favor controlled but nonetheless ragged guitar sounds, driving drums (deceptively light at times), simple bass lines and an singer frequently sounding at his wits end. If any of this sounds unappealing, you probably won’t like this album: SLD has identified their sound and hardly stray from it. There is a certain majesty, a more primal musical essence in some of their more carefully-written choruses (“You’ve Done Enough,” for example) that transcends the painfully typical downbeat power-chording of so many tracks. Stars Look Down is never lackluster in its sound, and the straightforward production does little to enhance or detract from the sound quality. But what it comes down to is that there is no inherent creative drive at work here, or at least that I can detect.

SLD have written some pretty catchy tunes and they’ve executed them well—this is a much more interesting album the second time through, especially when listened to with good headphones able to catch the arpeggios that add nuance and subtlety. Nonetheless, I still can’t help feeling that this album is somewhat derivative. Maybe this band will surprise us with its sophomore effort and head into uncharted territory, but so far they fail to play anything truly innovative or head-turning. One look at the strikingly well-done CD cover depicting various scenes of the sky grants the sense that SLD may have a little more at stake than they let on during the relatively brief course of this album. It will be interesting to see where their musical and lyrical development takes them.

—Nathaniel Naddaff-Hafrey