Chris Mills

Chris Mills
Living in the Aftermath
(Ernest Jenning)
**

If Chris Mills can be credited with anything, it's being able to compose songs in a variety of styles, while never sounding like he's merely experimenting. From the alt-country of the title track, to the later-day Bright Eyes ballad of "Such a Beautiful Thing," and the driving power pop of "Atom Smashers," Mills leaves no doubt about his far-reaching songwriting ability. Maybe this scope can be attributed to the fact that Mills has been at the singer-songwriter thing for over 10 years now, but Living in the Aftermath presents a man with a lot to say and an array of ways to say it.

The thing that stands out about Mills is that, while he has no problems crafting a song, those songs (forgive the cliché) don't pack any sort of punch. So while you can listen to all of Living in the Aftermath without cringing or having your pop sensibilities offended, you might just not have any sort of overwhelming urge to hear all of it again. It's the type of album you wouldn't mind winning in a contest, but it wouldn't make your regular rotation. - Matt Whelihan

Barry Adamson

Barry Adamson
Back to the Cat
(Central Control)
***

Before embarking on his solo career, Barry Adamson had two of the most impressive apprenticeships in music history, as teenage bassist for Magazine, Howard DeVoto's first post-Buzzcocks project, then as utility player in his founding-member role with Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds. When he broke out on his own with Moss Side Story, his 1989 solo debut, Adamson brought a wealth of musical experience and a fascinating perspective to his endeavors. Utilizing the then-unique device of creating soundtrack music for an imaginary film, Adamson proved himself to be a skilled experimenter and a passionate musical provocateur.

Nearly two decades after his debut, Adamson remains a singularly gifted talent, as evidenced by his darkly engaging eighth solo album, Back to the Cat. Once again, Adamson combines a novelist's observant eye for detail in his lyrics with a baritone that rumbles like Iggy Pop at his most restrained, and a penchant for stitching together threads of noirish jazz, smoky '60s lounge pop and edgy new wave, channeling it all with cinematic vision. Many of Back to the Cat's moody, propulsive tracks would feel at home on a new Bad Seeds release or booming from the soundtrack of a contemporary detective movie. The seedy slink of "The Beaten Side of Town," the insistent jazz wave of "Spend a Little Time," the funk-fueled spy pop of "Shadow of Death Hotel" and the hip-hop wah-wah swing of "Walk on Fire" all crackle with the intensity and plot-driven deliberation of a well-paced bullets-booze-and-broads screenplay. Turn out the lights, pour yourself a tall, stiff shot of something and drift into Barry Adamson's dramatic score to the personal film dancing on your cerebral cortex. - Brian Baker

Story of the Year

Story of the Year
The Black Swan
(Epitaph)
** 1/2

Story of the Year's 2003 debut, Page Avenue, which initiated a relatively short-lived two-disc career on major label Maverick, was beloved by fans for its catchy screamo sound, but dismissed by the band that later cited switching producers on its second record in 2005 as it sought to find its "true sound." Unfortunately, that sound was a pop-metal, frat-core disaster, selling copies but failing to engage fans and leaving people wondering whether the band could remain relevant in a scene riddled with fast attention spans and high levels of judgment.

The response seems to be this, the St. Louis group's third album and first on indie label Epitaph, and it's a questionable one. From the outset, the record's driving, heavy guitar riffs and quick-fire drums bring to mind early Thrice - not a bad thing - but as the disc unfolds, it becomes clear Story of the Year had trouble writing songs easily distinguished from one another. That is, they sort of all sound the same - even if that sound is fairly compelling. It's miles above the sophomore effort, with tracks like "The Antidote" coming off like heavier, mature versions of certain songs on Page Avenue. Despite its fallbacks, this album feels like what should have been Story of the Year's second record, which, all things considered, is a compliment. - Emily Zemler

The Cat Empire

The Cat Empire
So Many Nights
(Velour)
***

The Cat Empire was an immediate sensation in its native Australia, scoring multi-platinum sales and seven ARIA nominations with its 2003 debut. The Melbourne sextet made its American debut last year with its astonishing sophomore album, Two Shoes, an infectious mash-up of ska, soul, hip-hop, reggae, Latin pop and pub rock that reinforced the band's party-out-of-bounds ethic and earned it rave reviews, ecstatic festival gigs and rollicking late-night appearances on Letterman and Leno. For its third release, So Many Nights, the Cat Empire doesn't deviate too drastically from the sonic path of its first two acclaimed albums. With an almost boundless sense of musical adventure and a seemingly endless energy source, the Cat Empire once again sets the controls for the heart of the party and scores a direct hit with its V8-style genre blend.

Like a devilish gene splice of G. Love, Ray Davies and Sergio Mendes, the Cat Empire swings and sways with soulful passion, hip-hop abandon and pop precision ("So Long," "Fishies"). At the same time, So Many Nights displays a quiet thoughtfulness and slinky melodicism that provides an understated counterpoint to the manic dance persona that the band has honed to a fine edge on the first two albums. This time out, the Cat Empire discovers the wisdom of channeling kinetic power into subtler forms of expression, from the balladic lilt of "No Mountain" to the melancholy reflection of "No Longer There" and the smoldering reggae/samba beat of "Radio Song." To paraphrase one of the Cat Empire's jumping choruses, welcome, fishies, to their hook. - BB

Birds of Maya

Birds of Maya
Volume One
(Holy Mountain)
****

In the 1930s, Austrian scientist Wilhelm Reich discovered "orgone energy," an encirclement of the prickly sensation before orgasm, the sky's blue tint and the essence of life itself. He believed that if orgone was captured and physically generated (in his metal box accumulators), it could cure diseases and eradicate human neuroticism. This alarming study was suppressed by fascists and languished in obscurity for decades, but in the 1960s, sonic implements of orgone surfaced heavily in free jazz and Detroit rock, notably with the orgasmic gospel wails of Sonny and Linda Sharrock's Black Woman from 1969 and a year later with Stooges' Funhouse. For attuned listeners, such a force could evoke joyful tears, violent dancing spasms and an irrepressible urge to go out and make love to the world.

True to its emblematic name, Philadelphia's Birds of Maya seizes this numinous orgone flair for its debut, Volume One, resulting with one of the most life-affirming slabs of proto-scuzz this side of Funhouse. A sploogefest for guitar-crazed '70s butch-rock collectors, Volume One alleviates that painstaking search for the almighty riff by burgeoning the most apocalyptic grooves of their unwashed elders (think Sonic's Rendezvous Band's "City Slang" or Human Instinct's "Stoned Guitar") with an urgency comparable to bulwarking death by firing squad. The ravaged guitar solos ("Killer in the Snow") recall the amphetamine-laced bar-filth rhythms of AC/DC's live blowout "Rocker" (from 1978's If You Want Blood, You've Got It), only filtered through a wah-wah pedal that snorts whiningly like a tasered horse. Evangelical vocal growls lay buried beneath radiant distortion fuzz, giving the recording an eternal basement rawness that most of today's polished "stoner" groups wouldn't have the nerve to attain. In the realm of total-energy sludge jams, Birds of Maya nail the crude puissance of the acid-blooze era better than the original progenitors. It's one of the liveliest rock albums in years. - Steve Newton