Four words and one letter: Karen O in a bikini. Enjoy!
Four words and one letter: Karen O in a bikini. Enjoy!

RIYL: Steely Dan, G. Love, Rufus Wainwright
While the landscape is positively littered with pop culture-spewing, post-ironic hipsters, Roy Shakked, the one-man wrecking crew that is Silverlake’s Holmes, gets a free pass solely for “Let Go,” the opening track on his band’s self-titled effort and easily the best stoner song Steely Dan never wrote. Like Donald Fagen, Shakked is smart and a little bored, delivering his detached vocals over pristinely arranged café pop songs awash in sunny backing vocals. The most unintentionally funny thing about Holmes is how hard it tries to slack; “Gone” quotes Cameo’s “Word Up” just a tad behind the beat in traditional So-Cal hip hop style, and has one of those plinkety-plink hip hop piano bits propelling it along, but the album is far too ornate to be the work of a slacker. Shakked pulls an unpredictable left turn on “Go Computer,” a Weezer-esque guitar stomper with vocals smothered in slap echo. It’s a neat trick, but he’s clearly more comfortable mining mellow gold.

The heart of a showman beats inside these songs – wait until you hear what he’s done to David Bowie’s “Let’s Dance” – and the sooner Holmes embraces it, the better off he’ll be. He’s good now, but the cutesy stuff is holding him back. (Groove Gravy Records 2009)

RIYL: The Silver Seas, The Shins, The Feeling
Not to be confused with Jupiter Rising, the California duo who received a rather harsh, but fair, beatdown from our own Jason Thompson in 2006, this New York indie pop quartet brings the hooks by the truckload on their sophomore effort Sunshower. The heart of a late ’70s pop band beats at their core – check the cymbal ride, handclaps, and Moog solo in the super-cool “Simple Stones” – but they’re not hiding behind a gimmick. They’re like an American version of the Feeling, comfortable in the present but having more in common with rock bands of the past. “Flaming Arrow” would have fit perfectly on the Silver Seas’ album High Society (itself a brilliant modern-day slice of AM radio heaven), while the power popstastic “Anna” sounds like a lost song from an ’80s soundtrack (starring John Cusack, of course), and “Lights Go Out” recalls a more restrained Foo Fighters.

What this means is that Sunshower will be adored by soundtrack supervisors around the world, but will need a “Garden State” moment in order to break the band into the mainstream. This isn’t right or fair, but this is the music business we’re talking about; half the bands that sell millions don’t deserve it, and vice versa. Sunshower is one of the vice versas. (Rykodisc 2009)

RIYL: Byrds, Beach Boys, Love
One would think that it wouldn’t have taken six volumes before the renowned Nuggets series finally got around to the fertile music scene that dominated Los Angeles in the mid ‘60s. With ample sets devoted to London and San Francisco, and extensive treatment given New York and the Northeast, cynics might perceive Where the Action Is! almost as an afterthought, coming, as it does, this late in the Nuggets progression. Nevertheless, it’s a welcome addition to the canon, given that the ‘60s were practically defined by the folk rock, psychedelia and experimental sounds that echoed through the Southern California canyons, its sprawling suburbs, white, sunny beaches, and the haunts and hangouts on the Sunset Strip. And while the roll call of musicians birthed in those environs encompasses some of the more formidable figures of modern rock and pop, the L.A. scene was also responsible for would-be innovators who etched only a momentary foothold in that innovative era.

This, of course, is where Nuggets has always served its purpose, to bring to light the obscure and unlikely artists that have slipped through the cracks, both the one-hit wonders and early permutations of bands that would ultimately achieve stardom under some later aegis. And in the case of Where The Action Is!, that mission has never been better served. The obvious examples from that era are, of course, well-represented, from Captain Beefheart and the Byrds to the Beach Boys and Buffalo Springfield, while bands like Love, the Seeds and the Turtles, transient teen idols Dino, Desi & Billy, Kim Fowley and Keith Allison, and preposterous pretenders such as Peter Fonda and Noel Harrison also find a good fit. As befitting those heady, innocent days, there are plenty of band brands that give cause for chuckles, given that the psychedelic ‘60s propagated groups with names like the Everpresent Fullness, London Phogg, Farpardokly, Limey & the Yanks, Ken & the Fourth Dimension, the W.C. Fields Memorial Electric String Band and, of course, the Peanut Butter Conspiracy.
Happily, though, beyond a few laughable attempts to keep up with the times – note Rick Nelson’s attempts to get all druggy and descriptive with “Marshmallow Skies” and the Monkees’ psychedelic “Daily Nightly” – most of the music is surprisingly engaging. To the producers’ credit, less obvious entries from the better-known bands are tapped for inclusion, even to the extent of providing a rare alternate take of “Heroes and Villains” that differs dramatically from the final version. The real mother lode comes in the form of an early, heretofore undiscovered recording of “Sit Down I Think I Love You,” recorded by ex Au Go-Go Singers Steve Stills and Richie Furay prior to their later union in Buffalo Springfield.
Likewise, early works by Taj Mahal, Warren Zevon, Randy Newman, Nilsson and Little Feat’s Lowell George also serve historical interest and add value to a set that seems worthy enough – given its four discs, over a hundred songs and an extensive chronicle – to substantiate its $64.98 suggested retail price. An excellent compendium from a Day-Glo period, this may be the nicest Nuggets of all. (Rhino 2009)

RIYL: Queen, George Michael, Harry Nilsson
As anyone who’s ever tried to tell a story to a room full of people can tell you, it’s exceedingly difficult to entertain even one person, let alone several million – which is part of why it’s always so disappointing to see successful entertainers try and get serious on us. From Bill Murray in “The Razor’s Edge” to George Michael with Listen Without Prejudice, Volume One, artists are forever trying to show us that they can do more than make us laugh and/or dance – usually with disappointing results. Let’s give Mika credit, then, for not forgetting what moved six million copies of his 2007 debut, Life in Cartoon Motion – namely, the same gleefully layered Technicolor pop that forms the basis of its follow-up, The Boy Who Knew Too Much.

Mika makes no bones about sticking close to his roots, so to speak; as soon as you lay eyes on Boy’s artwork, which looks – at a glance, anyway – awfully similar to Cartoon Motion’s, you’ll know this isn’t going to be a major departure. In fact, it’s really just more of everything: more bright pop hooks, more production, and more wonderfully over-the-top arrangements. It takes less than a full minute before Mika’s leading what sounds like a cast of hundreds in a sing-along chant of “We are not what you think we are! We are golden!” and it’s off to the races from there, in one endless falsetto loop-de-loop of swirling harmonies, pounding pianos, and instantly memorable melodies.
Of course, it also bears mentioning that they’re fairly derivative; at his best, Mika suggests nothing so much as Queen’s greatest hits and Faith-era George Michael thrown together in a blender and pureed to a sweet, frothy consistency, with a few 21st-century production gewgaws sprinkled in for extra texture. It’s certainly nothing you haven’t heard before, in other words – but on the other hand, few artists who attempt this kind of pop fetishism do it as well as Mika; The Boy Who Knew Too Much, like Life in Cartoon Motion, feels more like an extension of his influences’ aesthetics than a hollow homage. After listening to an album this ridiculously fun, it’s natural to brace yourself for the bad aftertaste, but Mika does such a good job of synthesizing his personal songwriting perspective with these familiar ingredients that the hangover never comes.
There really aren’t any bad tracks here, although Mika is at his best when he’s doing his upbeat dance between baroque brilliance and utter ridiculousness; the album’s more sedate songs might have a deeper meaning, but they aren’t nearly as much fun. The pick of the litter is unquestionably “Touches You,” which sounds – in the best possible way – like it could have been a Faith B-side. With its driving piano, whomping synth bass, oceans of dovetailing background vocals, and a melody that sounds like it was as much fun to write as it is to play at full volume, it neatly encapsulates everything that’s great about Mika – and pretty much everything that works in modern pop music, for that matter – in a tidy 3:20. Let’s hope he never forgets it. (Universal/Casablanca 2009)
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