13th CD

Treasure. Four stars.

The Cocteau Twins are one of those flukes, a band out of time. Brought together in the late seventies, when post punk and new wave were the sounds of the future, a trio in Scotland morphed from goth sensibilities into all-encompassing gauzy soundscapes.

In 1984 the lineup was Robin Guthrie on guitar, Simon Raymonde on bass and Elizabeth Fraser on all vocals. Strangely, I couldn't find a listing for other instruments; it was all production. That caveat aside...

The Cocteau Twins are built upon Fraser's extraordinary vocals. You'd swear she was two people the way her voice dips and soars in near operatic flights. Her range and ability of expression are also noteworthy for not utilizing lyrics. Her songs are based in pure sound; English and (maybe) others crop up, seemingly for the feel of the word. That such distance, such affectedness, results in such emotionally gripping work is a testament to the Cocteaus talent.

When I heard Ivo for the first time, I'd have sworn it was a 90s product. It opens with acoustic strumming and Fraser's voice - off putting for spouting nonsense in such a high pitch. It's like getting dunked in cold water, but the music, which is equally as affected as her voice, is full of bell like percussion and a cooling lushness. It sways.

Lorelei is playful and spinning. One of the unique elements of the record is its ability to capture the sound of movement. The song structure is out of the ordinary, yet not inaccessable. Typical pop structure is forsaken with the rest of normality.

Beatrix is absolutely beautiful, a pure cascade of jangling harmonies. It's almost a complete musical circle, but just as it gets predictable, it shifts gears and becomes a brand new song laid on the same foundation.

Persephone lifts the style of hard rock. It's grungy, yet still somehow delicate and Fraser adapts to the tone perfectly. She utilizes near-English, but it makes no snese anyway. The quality is turbulent and ominous. Her two vocals play off each other excellently (she always doubles her voice and sings on different scales, which is a neat touch).

Pandora sounds absolutely Spanish. It has a sultry quality, and instrumental interludes as gentle as lacework.

Amelia is the most emotional moment. The tone is similar to Ivo and Lorelei, only the playful strangeness has been replaced with lament and sorrow and a sense of space and grandeur.

Aloysius returns from the dark. It's celebratory, frivolous and life-affirming. The drum beat is oddly low and deep for the "song." Listening to the CD several times, I can only wish they'd been a little less repetitious. First time, it's so lovely you don't mind, but afterwards.... So this CD is not to be revisited with too much consistancy.

Cicely is nicely ambiguous and strange. It's a melting pot of the sounds and styles from the other tracks. It calls to mind Persephone and is consistently contradictory.

Otterley is the most mysterious moment. Fraser descends to a breathy whisper, the music mixes with the sound of the tide. Atmosphere in spades. High drama being acted out in an unknown language.

And then it botches it completely. Donimo, six minutes of the most aggravating tune imaginable. It grates on me from the word go, yet somehow this, which would still have been weak at two minutes, gets stretched to a painful six, and sounds proud of itself for it! I don't listen to it; I stop at Otterley. Forced to take the album as a whole, Donimo stuck at the end to ruin the experience knocks a whole star off the rating.

Other than that, the Cocteau Twins are worth a listen.

12th CD...European plane ticket

Gulag Orkestar. Four stars.

No guitars were used in the making of this album.

Instead, Zach Condon (Beirut), a 19 year old from Albuquerque, takes up ukelele, mandolin, trumpet, piano, organ and percussion (including tambourine and congas), with a little help from members of A Hawk and a Hacksaw picking out a line here and there on clarinet or violin.

The result is probably the most European CD ever created by an American. You can tell right from the opening title track, which starts almost as a mournful band tuning up...somewhere in the Balkans. I thought the whole record sounded tinny on first few listens, but once you're past the lack of guitar and bass, a really incredible sound is open to you. A deep piano, Zach's melancholy vocals working in layers, trumpet everywhere and subtle percussion.

Prenzlauerberg (named for a nice district in Berlin) is a waltz. It sounds like he's singing in another language, but it's just him slurring his English, adding a mysterious vibe and leaving the song open to interpretation.

Brandenburg (named for a German state) is the first song to really pop out at you, via its driving mandolin melody. Despite the pace, it's no less sad for it. It's like an ode to a time and place long gone. That's Beirut's specialty.

Postcards from Italy runs along as a romantic ukelele tune that morphs into a triumphant second half. Trumpet is not a beautiful instrument, but Beirut transforms it.

Accordion comes to the foreground in Mount Wroclai (Idle Days), a peaceful, good-natured tune with a repetitive, chanted chorus and splendid percussion. You can dance to this one. Oh, and Mt. Wroclai is a fictional place.

Rhineland (Heartland) is a more subdued, melancholy number.

Then Scenic World, a bit of a shock, as it's got electronics in it that I find distracting. It's rather like having Pac Man running in the background, but once you're used to it, it's not too bad and the song's only two minutes anyway.

Bratislava (capital of Slovakia) gets back to more familiar territory. It's a crowded, militaristic piece that I get claustrophobic listening to.

The Bunker's sparsity is a breather, though the sound burgeons out as it goes along.

The Canals of Our City is well placed, as the album begins to wind down in a stately, graceful manner. The layers on Zach's voice can be a bit frustrating if you're trying to get the gist of what he's saying. It adds mystery though. Sort of like early T. Rex, though completely different in every other way.

After the Curtain is a bit silly. Applause bursts in like someone pressed a button, and there's the electronics again. The Pac Man sounds gets to be the only solo on the entire CD, and you can almost see the credits roll.

Overall, I'd say the first half of the CD is dynamite, and the second just can't measure up. Despite that, Beirut's debut is undoubtedly one of 2006s most interesting releases, and curiously genre-proof. It's certainly as alternative as they come. I can't wait to check out The Flying Club Cup.

11th CD (with picture anyway)

Everybody Knows This is Nowhere. Five stars.

Back in the early days of Buffalo Springfield, Neil Young met the Rockets, a psychedelic/folk hybrid that weren't really getting anywhere. He must have liked them, because after both bands had disintegrated, he got what was left of the Rockets, re-named them Crazy Horse and put them up as backing band for his second solo record.

So, out went the strings and the thoughtful little fragments that made up record 1, to be replaced with a more standard rock ensemble. Guitar (Danny Whitten), bass (Billy Talbot) and drums (Ralph Molina). The overall sound is still undeniably countryish.

Kicks off with Cinnamon Girl, immensely accessable, as handclaps always signify. Guitars manage to soar and be incredibly muddy at the same time. Straight ahead rock song, with an immediately fabulous riff that revolves through the whole thing and never wears out.

Everybody Knows This is Nowhere is pretty much an ode to the country and is the shortest tune. The two verses and chorus are sung in a rather rough harmony with Neil having entirely ditched his "thin" falsetto for the job. Guitars cover the song again, jangling in tandem.

Round and Round (It Won't Be Long) is a duet with Robin Lane, then on the folk circuit, since remembered on the New Wave circuit. Their voices compliment each other beautifully and the song itself is one of those wistful, melancholy numbers he does so very well. Six minutes of acoustic balladry and emotional metaphor.

Down by the River is, wonder of wonders, a Neil Young murder ballad. Well, not quite, since the lyric is purposefully obscure, only being meant to frame a sprawling, intense, grungy guitar workout. As a mood piece, it is fabulous. As a song, it's somewhat frustrating, as the lyric is so interesting and it never develops, and instead we get a mountain of morose guitar soloing. That being the intended purpose, it's excellent anyway.

The Losing End (When You're On) shouldn't be any good at all. It contains a rather unforgivably pedestrian line about tears falling like rain, along with some incredibly messy harmonies. Somehow it gets away with these technicalities and is quite an endearing country tune, when all is said and done.

Running Dry (Requiem for the Rockets) features Bobby Notkoff, another Rocket, on violin, making this the darkest track on the album. It smolders, like the soundtrack to the best western you'll never see.

Finally, it's the ten minute magnum opus. Cowgirl in the Sand. Starting quietly, it quickly shifts into an epic jam. A lyric is attached, and it makes a strategic moment of melodicism amidst the musical exhibition. It couldn't be more different from Down by the River, and it actually makes for a more enjoyable listen. It never becomes complacent, always shifting, and emotion never lets the guitars go for a second.

That's it. So I'm only two albums into this guy's catalogue, and I think I'm already a fan.