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Rage
Before Beauty
.
. . And You Will Know Us by the Trail of Dead
Source
Tags & Codes
(Interscope)
Throwing their shoulders against the hard anvil of the hype
machine, the music press has heralded the likes of the Strokes,
the White Stripes, . . . And You Will Know Us by the Trail
of Dead and the Hives in recent months. I’m as wary as anyone
about overestimating the talents of this crop. (In fact, I
find the Strokes simply OK and the White Stripes merely good.)
Nevertheless, if I were to single out one of these groups
for greatness, it would be Trail of Dead, who, in the form
of Source Tags & Codes, have released one of the
most powerfully beautiful and gorgeously fucked-up albums
of the year.
The group have built a reputation for onstage chaos, grimly
trashing various venues in a dark rage that only these four
black-haired men from Austin, Texas, can fully understand.
Beyond this inflated persona, however, lie real chops. Trail
of Dead wield their guitars in a noise-meets-melody region
somewhere between Sonic Youth’s Daydream Nation and
Pavement’s Crooked Rain, Crooked Rain, and shining
through all of the grimness are hooks galore. “How Near, How
Far” is a prime example, with breathless, martial drum rolls
underpinning ringing, cascading guitar fury. The track unfolds
like great drama, alternately receding and bursting forth.
“Another
Morning Stoner” is another good example of Trail of Dead’s
intent, with frenzied drums muscling up against the guitar
sheen, and vocals rapidly ascending to coarse-throated desperation.
The title track, meanwhile, is ruggedly beautiful from start
to finish, with a vocal line that reimagines Oasis’ Liam Gallagher
as American indie-rocker over rolling, Pavement-like guitar
figures. So bruised is this album’s psyche that it would be
almost unbearable to take without the flashes of melodic greatness,
and just as the Trail of Dead plumb the deepest regions of
raw, visceral emotion, so too do the clouds part to carry
the listener away on melody. Simply put, Source Tags &
Codes is one of those albums I want to constantly talk
about and press friends and strangers alike into hearing.
—Erik
Hage
Various Artists
The
Scorpion King: Music from and Inspired by the Motion Picture
(Universal)
Various
Artists
WWF: Forceable Entry
(Smackdown/Columbia)
In a smackdown between two new hard-rock compilations with
ties to wrestling stars, The Scorpion King scores a
decisive victory over WWF: Forceable Entry—and
not just because the Rock in Theban battle gear makes for
better cover art than the logo for the World Wrestling Federation.
For starters, both comps have Rob Zombie in their corner,
but WWF’s remix of Zombie’s played-out “Never Gonna
Stop” is no match for Scorpion’s “Iron Head,” Zombie’s
techno-stomp duet with Ozzy and a high point for both of their
(very compatible) satanic majesties. For evil sizzle, WWF
can only offer Marilyn Manson’s 6-year-old club hit “The
Beautiful People.”
Which disc has the better tag team of bands is strictly a
judgment call, but the heavy-metal Scorpion features
mostly brand-new songs (some of which may actually have been
inspired by the movie, such as Mushroomhead’s Middle Eastern-
inflected winner, “Along the Way”), and a somewhat thematic
mix that leans toward the apocalyptic. The rappy B-sides of
WWF’s wrestling-star theme songs are anchored by Kid
Rock’s listless remake of “Legs” and a fatigued Creed ballad
that can’t keep up with Scorpion’s rollup opener, “I
Stand Alone” by Godsmack. The motion-pic disc does have a
weakest link: Nickelback’s sappy “Yanking Out My Heart,” but
the comp’s many up-and-comers (Drowning Pool, Lifer) all prove
their mettle, especially newbies Injected, who jump promisingly
into the ring with the catchy, pecs-flexing “Burn It Black.”
Meanwhile, WWF is dragged out by a slew of dated wannabes
such as Stereomud, Saliva and the Union Underground.
The reigning champion of both comps is Scorpion’s new
System of a Down song, “Streamline,” a career high for the
most passionate and powerful heavyweight rock act of the century.
As if responding to critics’ quibbles about the band’s overly
wordy political screeds on last year’s Toxicity, System’s
Serj Tankian has shot back with a scaldingly simple emotional
cataclysm, scored by a staggering vocal performance that could
blow away a legion of Theban warriors.
—Ann
Morrow
Van
Morrison
Down the Road
(Universal)
Van Morrison is sounding fit and relaxed on this hearty exploration
of soul. There’s straight blues on “What Makes the Irish Heart
Beat,” high- stepping rhythm & blues on the wonderful
narrative “Choppin’ Wood,” wistfulness with a chug on the
rueful “Fast Train.” There’s hardly a weak cut (the exception
is an indulgent cover of Ray Charles’ “Georgia on My Mind”),
and overall, the album is cohesive and satisfying. Not all
is bucolic here, though Morrison’s mastery of rock pastorale
shines on the gorgeous “Steal My Heart Away” and “The Beauty
of Days Gone By.” There’s warmheartedness and impatience—their
blend is one reason Morrison keeps his edge nearly 40 years
into his career—and a preoccupation with work: “Man Has to
Struggle,” a rumbling set of homilies leavened by an arch
bridge, attests to Morrison’s doggedness; and “Whatever Happened
to P.J. Proby?” an inquiry into rock footnotes Proby, Screaming
Lord Sutch and Scott Walker, winds up as wry commentary on
Morrison’s own position. The music is terrific: Horns and
strings and B3 cohabit with ease and sensuality, Morrison
sings articulately, and the record navigates all kinds of
textures, no sweat. It’s tough and dreamy and rocks so effortlessly,
you’ll want to revisit Morrison all the way back to Them.
—Carlo
Wolff
 Eddie
Palmieri
La
Perfecta II (Concord)
After bursting into the Latin music scene in the early ’60s,
Eddie Palmieri has spent four decades exploring Afro-Caribbean
music, garnering a shelfload of Latin Jazz Grammys along the
way. La Perfecta II mixes the excitement of his early
innovations in salsa, charange, mambo and other idioms
with the wide sonic spectrum of the modern recording studio.
Exuding warmth and clarity, Palmieri’s new album mixes five
older pieces with six new ones. The album takes its name from
his Conjunto La Perfecta ensemble, who disbanded in 1968.
This reconvening, with a set of younger musicians, is based
on fortuitous happenstance, as was the original band’s chance
encounter between Palmieri and the late Barry Rogers. Palmieri’s
delight in potent arrangements and compositions, with ample
room for improvisation, sounds easy enough, but the ambitious
change he brought to the music stills casts a long shadow
today. This new album is no mere rehashing; it is flush with
its own vitality. It offers rhythmic excitement wedded to
brassy dazzle, and soloists with individual flair and character.
—David
Greenberger
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