Best-of collections are usually a means to bleed the proverbial royalties turnip, but some artists actually offer greatest hits packages as a record of posterity.
Cocco’s last hurrah, the clumsily titled Best + Ura Best + Mihappyoo-kyokushuu, falls somewhere between a greatest hits package and a boxed set with its thoroughness.
Rather than just collect the 11 singles that marked here brief but prolific career, Best + Ura Best + Mihappyoo-kyokushuu supplements those singles with b-sides, a few album tracks and five previously unreleased songs.
In the four years she recorded albums, Cocco produced enough extra tracks on her singles to become something of a fifth album. Recognizing that not everyone would be so thorough to buy her entire discography, Cocco included some of those extra tracks on Best.
Some of those extra tracks are every bit as good as the songs that eventually made her albums.
“Drive you crazy”, with its matchbox twenty vibe, pointed to a creative direction Cocco could have effectively pursued. “Sweet Berry Kiss” reflects its title quite well.
“Guuwa” starts off quietly, only to end on a haunting note, while “Again” shows Cocco at her most introspective.
The same can’t quite be said of the five mihappyoo-kyokushuu, or “unpublished songs”. Of those tracks, only “Mokumaoo” and “Ibara” stand out. “Mokumaoo” offers the kind of majestic choruses that marked “Hane” and “Yakenogahara”, while “Ibara” has a hard rock groove that’s totally Cocco.
The three other unreleased songs — “Amefurashi”, “Shiawase no Gomichi” and “Kutsushita no Himitsu” — tend to disappear into the background.
To round out the disc, Cocco included a few tracks from her overlooked debut album, bougainvillia. Although “Isho” and “Hoshi no Umareru Hi” are both great songs, one of them could have made room for “Hakobune”, a b-side to “Hane ~lay down my arms~” that’s as beautiful as anything Cocco has written.
Perhaps the most surprising gem in Best + Ura Best + Mihabbyokyoku is “Hiyokobuta no Theme Part 2”, a TV theme Cocco recorded for NHK. The light-hearted track has a playful vibe not quite captured in Cocco’s other children’s song.
Unfortunately, only the first pressings of Best include the track on a CD-3 that includes a version of “Nemureru Mori no Oujisama ~haru, natsu, aki, fuyu~” originally released on Cocco’s debut indie release.
In all, Best + Ura Best + Mihappyoo-kyokushuu is a must-have for even the most casual of Cocco fans.
In the singles-driven Japanese music market, albums are usually after-thoughts, a way to collect tracks from an artist’s last few singles onto one disc.
New World, Do As Infinity’s second album released earlier this year, was such a disc. Of the album’s 12 tracks, only three songs hadn’t been previously released.
Then bandleader Nagao Dai decided to forego video and photo shoots to concentrate on writing for the band. As a result, Do As Infinity managed to released its third album within months of its second.
This time, not only is there more new material, but the songs are better, and the album feels more cohesive.
Do As Infinity strikes a delicate balance between pop, jazz and hard rock, often combining one or more of these elements in unusual but appealing ways.
Deep Forest, however, sticks pretty much to delivering hook-filled pop. Some of the experiments that went into New World and Break of Dawn have been toned down and focused.
The three singles DAI released in consecutive months this past summer (“Tooku Made”, “Week!”, “Fukai Mori”) form the blueprint for the rest of the album — big on melody, but not too heavy with the slickness.
“Tadaima” has a gorgeous sing-along chorus that’s almost child-like. “Koiotome” indulges a bit in the usual anime-theme guitar effects without sacrificing any of its beefiness during the bridge and chorus.
“Get Yourself” and “Tsubasa no Keikaku” start off with sweet, chiming motifs, only to transform into a pair of rockers complete with larger-than-life guitar solos.
Do As Infinity does allow itself a bit of breathing room for some daring material.
“Koozookaikaku” opens with sitars, then breaks into a “Sing, Sing, Sing” drum beat complete with jazzy horns and growly guitars. “Bookenshatachi” hums along with a drum ‘n’ bass beat and some distorted guitars before hitting a jazzy chorus.
Those experiments aside, Deep Forest feels like a proper follow-up to the aesthetic Do As Infinity established with Break of Dawn. The band never strays from delivering the hooks, nor does it let it’s more creative endeavors get out of hand.
Café Tacuba is one of those bands where owning one of its albums will make you look cooler and smarter than you already are.
That’s because Café Tacuba is one of those bands that slavishly works to produce challenging, uncompromising recordings. The Mexican quartet play loosely traditional Latin music with an attitude and energy that’s all about rock ‘n’ roll.
They’re intercultural pranksters who can turn a merengue hit into a Mexican huapango. And when they’re not turning Latin music on its proverbial head, they’re pushing the acceptible limits of even the most artsy of art rock. (Kronos Quartet even worked with them.)
Now Café Tacuba has released a career retrospective, Tiempo transcurrido.
For a greatest hits collection, the album holds together incredibly well, almost sounding quite homogenous.
But in a very good way. Over the course of nine years, Café Tacuba hasn’t lost its course.
Moody tracks from 1999’s experimental Yosoy don’t sound out of place next to more out-going tracks such as the rough-hewned “El ciclón” or the electro-punk bombast of “Pinche Juan”.
Musical jokes such as “No controles” and “Ojalá que llueva café” — the aforementioned merengue-turned-huapango track — share a spiritual kindredness to the kinetic “Las flores” and “Ingrata”.
Such musical adventurousness makes the multi-rhythmic “Chilanga banda” and the dissonant “El aparato” feel positively normal.
Ramon Albarran’s nasal squeal, a voice that could easily grate in the wrong setting, never wears out its welcome. If anything, no one else is suitable for Café Tacuba’s genre-defying work.
Even clocking at 74 minutes and containing 22 tracks, Tiempo transcurrido feels like it finishes way too early. The album ends abruptly with “La dos”, not giving listeners the comfort of a fade out.
Few bands can break such rules so effectively. Café Tacuba has made a career out of it but still manages to squeeze in a few hooks amid all that rhythmic complexity and harmonic discomfort.
Tiempo transcurrido is a smart album, the best of the best. Getting it will make you smart too.
There’s a good reason Ozomatli chose Wozani to open for the band on its headlining tour in 2001.
Wozani and Ozomatli share a similar catholic (as in “comprehensive”, not “Roman”) interest in music. For Ozo, it’s Latin, hip-hop and jazz. For Wozani, it’s African, soul and — dare I say it — post-punk.
In concert, Wozani is a jubilant ensemble, welcoming but confrontational, energetic but grounded.
But on the band’s seven-song album, A Call for the People to Come (a translation of the band’s Zulu name), Wozani is much more introspective, almost a far cry from the exuberant band that primed Ozomatli’s audience at a concert in Austin.
Guitarist Jamila Guerrero-Cantor sticks to an acoustic instrument on the album, giving Wozani’s music a more subdued, organic feel even on such up-tempo tracks as “Throw Me Down” and “Nature.”
As such, songs such as “Friend” and “Nature” come across as almost folk-rock instead of grunge and alt-rock, respectively. Even “Kiya”, a workout of West African and rock music, sounds dramatically different without a chiming electric guitar.
Does such an intimate recording do an injustice to the band’s stage presence? Absolutely not. If anything, Guerror-Cantor’s acoustic playing emphasizes Wozani’s incredible skill as songwriters. Amplifiers do not equal talent.
Singer LamaKhosi Kunene has a wonderfully tender voice, and with Johari Funches-Penny and Shalott Wilson providing harmonies, the results are stunning.
While Wozani’s music may be introverted, it’s lyrics are certainly straight-forward. “I don’t want to be your fucking friend,” Kunene and friends sing on “Friend”.
“You can be a woman and be born with a dick,” Funene proclaims on “Seasons”, “or you can find a good man to pay all your rent.”
Wozani is an incredibly promising band, armed with tight, talented musicians and a set of worldly, throught-provoking, and most importantly, well-written songs.
See them live if they come to town, and make sure you get a CD on the way home.
It’s been three years since Ozomatli first took a bow with its self-titled debut, a disc so musically diverse, a sequel would be hard pressed to follow in its footsteps.
Embrace the Chaos, Ozo’s second album, is not only a suitable follow-up, it actually stakes out its own creative stamp.
This album exudes more energy than its predecessor and is packed to the hilt with Latin rhythms and heavy hip-hop beats, melodic African percussion breaks and outbursts of horns.
The more traditional rock backbeats that informed Ozomatli’s debut are noticeably absent on Embrace the Chaos — this is strictly a Latin affair, with a little bit of help from a bunch of hip-hop friends.
And therein lies in its inexhaustive energy.
Latin rhythms are some of the most difficult to navigate, and singer/trumpeter Asdru Sierra charts them well when he pits his melodies against the band’s tight arrangements.
The rather inaccurately titled “Timido” and “Dos Cosas Ciertas” don’t let up on the dance rhythms. “Mi Alma” switches back and forth between a kinetic waltz and a straight-forward drum machine. “Sueñnos en Realidad” is the booming percussive song Paul Simon should have written around the time of The Rhythm of the Saints.
“Vocal Artillery” is perhaps the most interesting sonic collage — a hip-hop beat lays the foundation for a dark, Klezmer-like trumpet line, over which three rappers freestyle.
Ozomatli was born out of activisim, something not altogether played up on the last album. The title track on Embrace the Chaos, however, takes listeners straight to Ozo’s roots.
Samples from the aftermath of the band’s interrupted performance anchor the song’s opening and conclusion. It’s an interesting experiment that works musically but also seems a bit heavy-handed.
In the end, Ozomatli is all about the band’s namesake — the Aztec god of celebration.
Embrace the Chaos is an invitation for listeners to embrace jubilation, exuberance and joy. In this case, chaos isn’t a bad thing.
It took earning seven Grammy nominations and a slot on the Watcha Tour for the rest of the world to heed the title of Juan Esteban Aritzibal’s debut album.
Fijate bien. “Pay close attention.”
If you speak Spanish, you just might get a more meaningful experience from listening to Juanes’ appealing mix of Latin music and rock. Reportedly, the singer’s lyrics deal quite a bit with Colombia’s internal strife and sounds literate in doing so.
I don’t speak Spanish, so I couldn’t get anything out of the lyrics, no matter how closely I pay attention.
But it doesn’t take much brain power, let alone more than two listens, to realize Juanes is one helluva songwriter. Ah, the wonder of music — good tunes are understandable anywhere.
And Fijate bien has more than its fair share of incredible songs.
Unlike other rock en Español artists, many of whom align themselves with punk and rap, Juanes is a mainstream rocker. Nek may sound and look a bit like Sting, but Juanes has Sting’s ability to nail a hook.
Producer Gustavo Santaoalla, a guy whose work with the likes of Molotov and Café Tacuba makes him walk on water, embellishes Juanes’ music with some nice touches.
Strings and a quiet electric guitar infuse “Vulnerable” with a cautious optimism. Vallenato-style accordions drive the title track and “Podemos hacernos daño”, while salsa rhythms provide the foundation for “Para ser eterno” and “Sonador”.
But at its core, Fijate bien is a songwriter’s showcase. Juanes probably didn’t need to put a single Latin influence in his music to get his point across. Nor to sound any less good.
Pay close attention? Nah. Juanes makes it easy to just sit and listen.
Oh, how I’d like to give Madrigal a glowing review.
It’s Chara, after all.
One of the most unique voices in the Japanese music. A sort of saccharine Macy Gray, with a lot less sandpaper in her throat. A singer with a distinct vision of what her voice ought to achieve.
And on Madrigal, Chara again finds seeks out music that suites her unique set of pipes. It’s just not very memorable music.
There certainly are some bright moments. Former Smashing Pumpkin James Iha opens the album with two incredible songwriting contributions, “Boku ni Utushite” and “Skirt”. Of the two, “Skirt” is the hands-down gem, a sugary pop confection made bittersweet with Chara’s husky delivery.
The album’s first single, “Lemon Candy”, makes for a nice companion piece to “Skirt”, and “Caramel Milk,” which was written by Ivy’s Andy Chase, has a nice leisurely pace.
But for the most part, Madrigal is inconspicuous.
Only on a few tracks does Chara ever reveal the power her voice holds. She sounds great when she’s whispering, but she shouldn’t hinge an entire album on it.
The band nearly drowns Chara out on “Tameiki no Mi”. Her non-descript delivery on “Kanashimi to Bi” probably possesses more fire than the song lets on.
“Kokoro no Ki” just kind of waddles, and even on “TADD”, the fastest, boisterous song on the album, Chara barely registers.
As a result, what should have been a strong collection of neo-psychedelic rose-colored-glasses pop-rock turns into a belaboured performance.
The two versions of “Skirt” on this album aren’t enough to really make it interesting.
And that’s too bad. Chara is a riveting performer, and the hippie vibe that permeates this album fits her like a velvet, diamond-studded glove.
Freedy Johnston has such an emotive croon, it’s hard to look past his more introspective work to realize he can rock out.
1994’s This Perfect World and 1999’s Blue Days, Black Nights suits Johnston for the simple reason that his voice sounds incredible delivering a poignant melody.
By comparrison, his more outgoing work — 1992’s Can You Fly? and 1996’s Never Home — pale by comparrison, despite being strong, rocking records adored by critics.
Right Between the Promises manages to balance the quality of Johnston’s quieter works with the drive of his louder material.
“Broken Mirror” has the sing-song quality that made “Bad Reputation” a dark horse hit six years ago. “Waste Your Time” hammers along with the energy of his earlier work.
“That’s Alright With Me”, on the other hand, indulges in a breezy, jazz-pop feel, while “Radio for Heartache” and “Save Yourself, City Girl” dig into more mainstream American folk-pop.
Johnston even tries his hand at a bit of cryptic-ness, writing a dissonant, arhythmical hook on “Back to My Machine.”
Right Between the Promises is not only well-written and well-performed but well-rounded.
Johnston covers the breadth of his talents, and he does it pretty succintly — the album clocks in just short of 40 minutes.
Right Between the Promises, however, has garnered a bit of criticism from writers who expect Johnston to keep producing poetic short stories in song form.
And yes — this album isn’t big on creating mini-universes, populated with half-drawn but intriguing characters. (Evie is nowhere to be found.) Fans holding Johnston to that harsh criteria may find themselves disappointed in that regard.
But really — Johnston could sing in Gaelic, and his songs would lose none of their emotional strength.
Right Between the Promises is an excellent, concise disc from one of America’s best songwriters. That’s all there is to it.
It’s a primitive declaration, but there really isn’t anyway other succinct way to describe this Korean-born fury of a singer who now calls Japan home.
Just one listen to Youjeen’s first album, The Doll, and it’s enough to get everyone at a bad party slamming.
J from the now-defunct Luna Sea has evidently taken Youjeen under his proverbial wing — his name appears all over the credits as songwriter and producer.
And while Youjeen may only be a vocal piece, she’s a pretty damn intriguing one.
She rants against commercialism and capitalist social classes on the album’s opener, “Apple for Your Thoughts.” Then she turns into a latter-day hair-metal vixen for “Hey Jerks”, but afterward transforms into a grunge frontwoman on “Happy Happy Doll.”
Like Meg Lee Chin from England, Youjeen knows how use the full range of her vocal abilities to get her point across. She can sing sweetly for a few verses, but then turn into a growling, screaming banshee a few seconds later.
It’s a powerful talent that keeps listeners riveted to Youjeen, even when her music veers from creepy to angry.
On “Witch”, she alternates between shy and fragile, fierce and aggressive. She keeps her growl in check for “Another,” but her belting power is no less impressive.
Musically, The Doll indulges in the greatest rock excesses without losing a focus on attention-grabbing riffs.
“Someday” finds Youjeen surrounded by rumbling guitars and dramatic strings. “Witch” sports a dischordant hook over which eerie synthesizer effects lend a touch of Marilyn Manson.
“Good-bye”, on the other hand, shows Youjeen can be an introspective rocker, but not before “Fly away” and “Imitation,…you” lay heavy on the metallic-punk riffs.
The Doll is cock rock at its best. Youjeen cuts through the crap that rock ‘n’ roll has become and gets to its hearts and guts. Or to take the penile analogy further, she’s got rock by the balls.