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album reviews

Sonny Rollins' new live album, Without a Song: The 9/11 Concert, plays like a strange musical therapy session.

Recorded in Boston only four days after 9/11, the album finds the performers and audience alike gripped by a collective unease. As Rollins alludes to the tragedy during the band's introduction, the response of the audience reveals a need for the comfort of music.

The album hits its mark in its vivid recreation of this setting. This is Rollins' way of facing that feeling of fear and uncertainty that gripped the nation. This is Rollins attacking tragedy with all the musical gusto and verve that distinguishes him as a jazz master.

The song selection is almost philosophical and the performance is utterly joyous. In their interpretations of the standards like Youmans' "Without a Song," and Hammerstein's "Why Was I Born?," Rollins' sextet sets a tone appropriate to the setting. These are songs whose very titles bemoan the indignities and injustices of the world. Yet, on this album, there is such exuberance, defiance and utter creative joy in every line that the performance serves as a cathartic challenge to all the universe's injuries.

Rollins' tenor saxophone has remained succinct and unsparing, despite his 80-plus years. Rollins' riffs rip the standards apart with purity and speed while his paraphrasing reveals a vast store of musical knowledge that encompasses even the most remote corners of jazz. Still, Rollins' chops are not what they were when he was a younger man, and he relies on Clifton Anderson's trombone and Stephen Scott's piano for breaks.

The supporting players hold their own next to Rollins. Their shared purpose seems to be to play with enough fervor and passion to exorcise the almost palpable fear of the days after 9/11.

In introducing the band, Rollins muses on the power of music. "Maybe music can help," he suggests. "I don't know, but we have to try something these days."

- Adam Goldstein goldstea@mscd.edu

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To outsiders, Broken Social Scene may seem to be nothing but a revolving door for the who's-who of Canadian indie rock. Their ever-changing lineup of members - there are currently 11 - consists of musicians from bands such as Do Make Say Think, A Silver Mount Zion and Metric.

But to those familiar with their critically-acclaimed sophomore effort, You Forgot It in People, the revolving door appears more like some surreal carousel, where the ponies are alive and so is the music.

The collective's self-titled third album hits stores Oct. 4 and follows closely in the footsteps of their last effort, blending poppy up-tempo rock with spacey, dissonant jazz. The album is well paced and meant to keep its listeners on their toes.

Songs like "7/4 (Shoreline)" and "Windsurfing Nation" accent the album with catchy, repetitive guitar riffs and male/female call-and-answer lyrics.

Leslie Feist's vocals stand out throughout the album due to her transient melodies and pitch-perfect harmonies. Her voice can serve as a welcome relief from the oft-strained, breathy vocals of her male counterparts. There is nothing quite as peaceful as listening to Feist coo: "If you always get up late, you're never gonna be on time," while speeding toward campus, already late for class.

The light segues help hold the album together, blending songs full of obscure, orchestral melodies seamlessly into syncopated hard rock and sporadic digi-pop. While the album is enjoyable, it lacks the eccentricity that marked the band's last effort, although that fact may make it more accessible to a wider range of listeners.

Regardless of its minor shortcomings, this is one carousel worth riding.

- Matt Quane mquane@mscd.edu

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If the world ended today, Ok Go's Oh No would play in the background among the screams of the dying. On their sophomore album they mix dark imagery with disco-rock beats, holding nothing back and leaving the audience kicking and scratching for more.

Each song allows the mind to twist tightly around dismal images of destruction and heartbreak while driving, upbeat rhythms give hope that the world hasn't yet met its end.

Songs such as "It's a Disaster" depict the optimism of destruction, with lines such as, "howling with laughter, panic, alarm, and distress, but it's all we got now." The song ends in dissonance, casually beating the ear into submission. Sure, life's a mess, but that's all there is.

"A Million Ways" is a diatribe against a cruel woman set to an art-rock beat. It mixes pop melodies with sparse guitar riffs that add emotional impact. In "Oh Lately, It's So Quiet," the band compares love to being haunted by a ghost. This track showcases sweet, throat-straining vocals set to a sullen dance beat. It stands out with a unique sound for the album.

Relentlessly, the album marches on through the destruction of existence, allowing for few moments of clarity and beauty. As each song ends, it leads into the next, without a moment of rest. While the songs are all unique, it sometimes feels like the album becomes one long mind trip, which can make the album draining.

Ok Go keeps the mind and ear guessing from track to track and refuses to conform to rock's standards. Oh No strives to find its place in the music world, not fitting in, but standing out.

- Cassie Hood hoodc@mscd.edu

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The Black Maria want to Lead Us To Reason, but it might be a good idea to think twice before following them.

This album opens with a unique electric-organ sound that echoes back and forth and then heads straight into disappointment. Several other tracks also use interesting, possibly synthesizer-driven openings. Thirty seconds into these tracks, it is obvious this album follows the exact formula that's failed so many other post-hardcore or emo bands. Here's a helpful hint for the Black Maria and all their kin: dumbing down post-hardcore to appeal to adolescent girls and high-school football teams is a trap.

Post-hardcore is a genre known for having heavy and poetic lyrics. Reading through this album is like reading the incomplete diary of a 16-year-old-girl. It's bad enough the lyrics do not make any sense, it's worse that they are riddled with clich‚s about love, loneliness and how hard life is. Lyrics like "We won't make it so why should we stop it, mirrors and cameras, I reach for razorblades, I want to cut myself," probably should have been left in the singer's journal.

The lyrics are bad enough, but when they are delivered in high-pitched squeals and pathetic whimpers, it gets to be too much to take. When an album gives the listener the urge to find the singer and give him something to cry about, it is usually best to remove it from the stereo.

This album could have been decent if the vocals had been excluded. The instrumentation is simple and follows the post-hardcore formula of layering heavy, crunchy guitars with a melodic riff. There is also some piano that might be worth a listen if the singers nasally whine was removed.

Listening to this album will set off a chain reaction. The singer's squeals cause an immediate, horrible headache. This will lead to the headphones being thrown to the ground and the inevitable breaking of the player. This will of course result in the purchasing of a new player, which will lead to temporary poverty. Bottom line: The Black Maria is not worth it.

- Megan Carneal mcarneal@mscd.edu