For the first half of the nineties, Dylan seemed mostly disinterested in crafting new material, confirming as much in interviews, “there was a time when the songs would come three or four at the same time, but those days are long gone.” Nowhere is this point better illustrated than 1992’s Good As I Been To You, the first all covers album of his career. Even Dylan biographer and enthusiast Clinton Heylin was beginning to lose hope, writing, “the commitment required to work on an album of original songs, to bend and twist them to his peculiar vision… is such that only a truly exceptional collection of new songs… is likely to drive his weary bones into those narrow confines once more.” Not until the fall of 1996 in Lanois’s Oxnard California studio did Dylan begin to demo a new batch of songs.

What may have once been a healthy and respectful relationship between Dylan and Lanois would prove otherwise during the Time Out Of Mind sessions. For the production, Dylan envisioned an early rock n’ roll sound (think Shep & The Limelites – “Daddy’s Home”) while Lanois pushed for the darker, murkier sound of the duo’s first collaboration, 1989’s Oh Mercy. Such disparate visions often create an apprehensive work environment, and complications inevitably arose as Lanois was not a hands-off producer. Dylan often felt undermined during the recording process and resorted to “protecting songs” from Lanois. This tension would come to have major repercussions on the final product. For Dylan’s part, he brought his most inspired collection of songs in over 20 years. The new material, largely constructed around Dylan’s increasingly frequent contemplation of his mortality, naturally lent itself to Dylan’s voice at the time: worn from the years, yet still elastic and expressive. Ever the road warrior, Time Out Of Mind would be Dylan’s last album before his voice further deteriorated as the result of aging and the “Never Ending Tour.”

Certain songs benefitted greatly from Lanois’s production. After many attempts to make “Doing Alright” into something grandiose, the tune was slowed down and fixed up with the song’s defining reverberating guitar riff and re-titled “’Til I Fell In Love With You”. Such a transformation is simply unfathomable without Lanois. Similarly, “Cold Irons Bound” is made into one of the album’s key tracks by its mucky, echo-soaked production. Matching the sonic tenor, Dylan sings, “I’m waist deep in the mist, it’s almost like I don’t exist.” In the few spots where Dylan’s simpler recording approach was used, the results were staggeringly successful. “Tryin’ To Get To Heaven,” one of the few gospel-inspired songs not stripped of its gospel sound, benefits greatly from the space allowed to the organ and the vocal.

A song like “Can’t Wait” began life at Oxnard as another haunting gospel tune. Pushing into his upper-register, Dylan’s lament of his age is clear, “maybe for you it’s not that late, but as for me don’t know how much longer I can wait.” When the sessions moved to Miami’s Criteria Studios, Dylan’s approach and Lanois’s (man)handling of the sessions stripped the song of its power, producing the limp and layered version which appears on the record. Dylan, always toying with his work, drops the key from its original B-flat and accordingly his vocal transforms from a plaintive croon to a bitter growl. Engineer Mark Howard was instructed to treat the vocal track so as to make it sound electrified and fuzzed, the same procedure he had performed on Dylan’s harmonica. What should have been one of the landmark songs on the album is relegated to mere filler as a result.

What ultimately clinches the fate of Time Out Of Mind was the decision to not include the three best songs he had written for the album. Why these songs weren’t included is a matter of some debate. Some Dylan collaborators like Duke Robillard contend the fault lies with Dylan himself, stating, “Dylan always leaves his best songs off the album.” Another take is that Lanois’s resistance to Dylan’s production ideas forced the songwriter’s hand. As in most cases, the truth lies somewhere in between. Had it been included, “Marchin’ To The City” would have been the best gospel tune on Time Out Of Mind. Like “Tryin’ To Get To Heaven” and unlike “Can’t Wait,” the song still at one point played like a gospel number at Criteria. This version, included on the first disc of late career Dylan outtakes collection Tell Tale Signs, harkens back musically to the best moments of Dylan’s born again period with a lyrical content more mature and adapted to Dylan’s contemporary concerns. In some ways, the exclusion of “Marchin’” can be excused as this song was worked over into an early form of “Doing Alright,” itself worked out into “’Til I Fell In Love With You.” Given this and the gospel redundancies that would have resulted, the exclusion can be forgiven. Less understandable is the removal of “Red River Shore,” which would have been a glorious torchbearer for Dylan’s “girl I left behind” family of songs. Yet, the most egregious sin by a country mile was the failure to include “Mississippi.” Listeners familiar with late-period Dylan are already acquainted with this song as it was re-recorded for 2001’s Love And Theft. That version, beautiful as it is, does not compare with the power of Dylan’s earlier performance at Criteria. It wasn’t until the second disc of 2008’s Tell Tale Signs that the best version of Dylan’s best late-period song surfaced. In one of his best vocal performance since the mid-seventies, Dylan writes himself as a prison-hardened man just trying to pick up the pieces in a world he no longer understands. Each and every one of the flaws on Time Out Of Mind could be forgiven had this version of “Mississippi” been included. Dylan apparently felt he unsatisfied with the song, and some of the blame lies on Lanois’s shoulders. If Dylan had a more hospitable working atmosphere, one gets the feeling the superior version of “Mississippi” would have seen the light of day sooner, and ultimately this colors one’s opinion of the album.

In a vaccum, Time Out Of Mind is one of Dylan’s better records, falling somewhere below his mid-sixties folk rock trilogy and above his non-Blood On The Tracks seventies releases. However, with better decision making, Time Out Of Mind could have stood eye to eye with any album in Dylan’s illustrious career and not blinked.

On the surface, little has changed for the RAA. Nils Edenloff’s singing still emulates the untreated vocal dabbling of Jeff Mangum and Amy Cole’s keyboards still lightly coats the frenzied beat of Paul Banwatt. Even certain songs, most notably “Barnes’ Yard,” feel like they’re directly lifted from the debut. There is, however, a slight change in mood, as Departing is a tad more melancholy than its predecessor. The album kicks off with “Two Lovers,” a folksy song that briefly relives the failed expectations of a past relationship. From there, the album seems like an elongated breakup letter. On lead single “Stamp,” Edenloff sings, “And the hardest thing about this love is that it’s never gonna last, and the hardest thing about this love is that you’re never coming back.” It would seem that he’s singing to an old flame, but given the other lyrical content on the album it seems more likely he’s giving his last goodbyes to his Canadian childhood. Such is made clear on album closer “Good Night,” “Goodnight to the northern winters and the heartless sinners, I haven’t seen you now for a while, going to miss you more with time.”

Outside of tracks like “Muscle Relaxants” and the aforementioned “Barnes’ Yard” and “Stamp,” the album spends the duration in mid-tempo mode. Even for a shorter album like Departing, that’s a lot of slow-moving music. Much of it holds true to the formula employed on the debut. It makes repeated listens more difficult as the album so easily turns into background music rather than an engaging listen. Several of these tracks, such as “Tornado ’87,” would be better served played with more fervor and speed.

The sophomore album is often the hardest to make for artists and just as frequently the hardest to appraise. A debut is generally the product of years of songwriting, struggle, refinement, reinvention, and second guessing. With the sophomore album, especially one from risers like the Rural Alberta Advantage, that entire process must be heavily compressed for the first time. Sometimes that delivers Room On Fire; sometimes that delivers Nevermind. Most often, it delivers what you get on Departing: an enjoyable but still not entirely satisfying collection of songs that don’t really work as well together as they do apart.

However, despite spawning from the same recording sessions, III/IV shares none of Easy Tiger’s stylistic twang. Designed as the conceptual follow-up to 2005’s Cold Roses, III/IV is Adams most straight ahead rock and roll album since, well, Rock N Roll.

While still keenly self-aware, Adams is no longer trying to force the issue as he has been wont to do in the past. As always there will be filler on a Ryan Adams album, let alone a double release, but the piece is far more cohesive than anyone could rightfully expect one of his albums to be. The songs included are rooted in the 1980s rock underbelly, most notably and obviously the Replacements. This brings out the best of alt-rock Adams on tracks like “Lovely And Blue” and “Breakdown Into The Resolve,” the latter of which can easily be read as a summary of his battle with drug addiction and prolific flood of music releases.

Whether Ryan Adams is recalling the ideal woman he pined for as a youth on “Star Wars” (“Someone that loves me the way of Star Wars) or remembering high school drama on “Wasteland” (“It’s evident now that somebody’s lying, and things don’t work out but nobody’s trying”), it becomes evident that III/IV is really written about the things that a teenaged Adams held dear: “the ‘80s, ninjas, cigarettes, sex, and pizza.” Considering the album was recorded during the height of the Killers and Franz Ferdinand fascination, Adams’ dalliance with the past makes even more sense.

Adams has dipped into his past many times before but for the first time it seems like he’s simply looking back rather than trying to relive it. This is the kind of perspective that usually only comes with aging and maturity. He’s mellowed, and in many ways that’s not a good thing. There are gems on III/IV but they don’t stand out the way Adams best songs used to in the past. There isn’t as much flash to his work and so many of the tracks share similar sonic aesthetics which can further compound the problem. What that means is the album is more of a grower, and it can take a lot out of a listener to give a full double album time to take root. There is still plenty to cherish here, and no Ryan Adams devotee is going to feel disappointed. In reality, this is likely just another detour in the ever evolving and confusing career of Ryan Adams.

What makes the Red and Blue albums different from most compilations before and after is how they attacked the band’s catalog. The Beatles songbook is as weighty as any out there. As such, finding a sample to adequately represent the band’s work, even over the course of four discs, is a daunting challenge. Surprisingly, it was Beatle villain and onetime manager Allen Klein who put this gem together. Outside of the four Beatles themselves, it was Klein (and not Yoko Ono) who was most responsible for the breakup of the band. This in no way a redemption, although the song selection on the Blue album is extraordinary. Not only are the key album tracks and singles well represented, but attention is paid to lesser known tracks and B-sides such as “You’ve Got To Hide Your Love Away,” “Don’t Let Me Down,” and “Old Brown Shoe.” This works two-fold as it provides a deeper look into the band’s catalog and demonstrates how the band’s hyper-prolific production of great songs forced many other quality tunes to be pushed out of the fore.

Yet despite such an ambitious objective, most of the great Beatles songs of both eras are present. The Red album smartly spends the first third of its runtime on the songs the band played the first year or so of breaking America before giving way to some of the band’s early introspective songs like “Nowhere Man” and “In My Life.” It’s hard to complain much about the song selection, though having “No Reply” or “Run For Your Life” would have been fantastic. The Blue album, understandably, comes on a bit stronger as it draws from an even deeper pool of material. That’s no knock on the Red album, it’s just a statement of how great the Beatles of the late sixties were. Really, how can you start a compilation better than with the greatest double A-side of all time and the opening three tracks of Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band?

Yet all this begs the question: what’s different about the 2010 reissue? Why should anyone already in possession of the original bother with an update?

The answer is simple: the 2010 reissue is just a better digital representation of the Blue album than any previous version. It’s of great satisfaction that while the tracks are noticeably louder, they are not iPod remasters. That is, they aren’t always in the red just so they’ll come across better on cheap earphones.

Click for full resolution

Audiophiles will testify that the empty space on audio tracks is just as important as the spaced reserved for the song. This allows for a more dynamic experience rather than just a brick wall of sound. It’s an example of the kind of care and consideration the Beatles catalog is treated with that all other artists need to emulate.

When so many other legendary bands continuously abuse their fanbases with senseless reissues to keep oversized, antiquated major labels alive, the Beatles prove that nobody else of their era knows how to treat their history quite as well as they do. They didn’t conform to any model of how to write their musical history, they invented one instead; there was no father to their style. To compare the Red and Blue albums to any other band’s attempt to compile their history is not only a waste of time but missing the point entirely. The Beatles were not peerless merely because of they stood above the pack, but because they were literally without peers.

1962-1966 (Red): 98%
1967-1970 (Blue): 100%

And here we have an EP released soon after a full length. While EPs released shortly after full albums are generally comprised of unused material from previous recording sessions, Sometimes the Blues Is Just a Passing Bird is its own unique affair. Even lead single “Like The Wheel,” a reworked version of a bonus track off of The Wild Hunt, feels divorced from Matsson’s previous work. The new version trades in doleful piano for a more adventurous guitar construction which transforms the song into a ballad of self-determination. “Wheel” is one of the five examples of how quickly Matsson has moved on to new ground. Even his voice shakes with conviction in a manner not apparent on previous releases. Where Matsson once sounded mischievous he now rings solemn and heavier. On “The Dreamer” Matsson makes lines as vague as “just enough dark to see/ how you’re the light over me” sound positively life-affirming. But he’s at his best when he lets his words meander a bit such as they do on closer “Thrown Right At Me.” Like many of his folk heroes, he succeeds at weaving disparate imagines together in a manner that feels natural.

The stage moniker was originally meant as a bit of a gag, but now Matsson’s music really has a tall shadow to cast. Much like his influences, he’s tightened his own songcraft without becoming formulaic, and the results are simply stunning. He is lead by his eagerness to evolve his songcraft. That he has released a new EP of songs that are divorced of his past so soon after his last album is a positive sign for the future. Given the upwards trend of his career, one can now see that full length masterpiece over the horizon.

Like contemporaries She & Him, Jenny And Johnny are a real musical partnership. While that means they receive roughly equivalent time at the forefront over the course of the album, it quickly becomes clear that one partner isn’t holding up their end of the bargain. Rice, while a perfectly adequate sideman, is so devoid of personality and character that forcing him into an equal role with Lewis seems not only undeserved, but outright annoying.

Consequently, those hoping for a proper follow-up to 2008’s Acid Tongue are going to be somewhat left out in the cold. I’m Having Fun Now does share some of the Phil Spector era pop sounds that Lewis has employed in the past, however, the songs do not reach the same emotional depths as her previous work. One needs to go no farther than Fun’s “Animal” to see how disbelief in god, a popular Lewis theme, is approached so superficially that it comes across as anti-atheist. Similarly disappointing is “Just Like Zeus,” which is a rather limp attack on hipsters. Worse still is “While Men Are Dreaming” which uses ambient sound for the first 45 second of the song, turning the song into nothing more than a musical speed bump. It’s no surprise then that the best moment on the album is the one with the weakest Rice presence. “Big Wave” finds Lewis in top form taking on the overspending and massive debt of her adoptive state of California. It’s moments like this that remind the listener that Lewis hasn’t lost her touch.

What is missing from Fun is any noticeable amount of tension between the duo. Lewis and Rice seem to be bringing anything special out of one another. On the stronger tracks, like “Switchblade” and the aforementioned “Big Wave,” their harmonies are charming and work well. For the rest of the album they just sound like they’re stepping on each other’s toes, as exemplified best on album opener “Scissor Runner.” Rice is an albatross hanging over the album, and frankly he’s never come off as more unlikeable. All this might sound a bit nitpicky, but I challenge anyone to go back and listen to Lewis’ Rabbit Fur Coat and not come to the conclusion that this should be the last time Johnny collaborates with Jenny.

Selway’s choice to step away from the drum kit for the entire album is a curious one as he’s one of the most accomplished and respected drummers of his generation. However, given the album’s mostly acoustic singer/songwriter nature, drums are of lesser importance. Where there is percussion it is provided by Wilco’s Glenn Kotche who adds texture but goes mostly unnoticed. This allows for Selway to pluck away at his guitar and focus on singing. Throughout the album Selway’s voice proves to be remarkably sweet and emotive. While not as elastic or sweeping as that of Yorke, Selway’s delicate, understated delivery is perfectly matched with these songs.

On Familial, Selway paints himself as a man at odds with his station in life. On “By Some Miracle” he chides himself for sidestepping an unnamed responsibility (“as I gave in to temptation / I’ve strayed across the line / keep it under wraps in the cold store / put it to the back of your mind”). Elsewhere on “The Ties That Bind Us,” Selway examines the upbringing of his children (“I want to show you another way / I want to shield you from my mistakes”) while submerging himself in his perceived shortcomings (“the famine that is running through me”). “A Simple Life” details not only Selway’s aversion to stardom (“as the crowds pour out on a cold cold night / there’s a place where we can go / there’s a place where we both can hide”), but foreshadows his eventual retreat from the spotlight altogether (“then we’ll leave and disappear into the night / we’ll turn out the lights / we just want a simple life”). The track serves as not only the best encapsulation of Selway’s introverted personality, but as the centerpiece of the album. In a similar vein, “All Eyes On You” is about Selway’s discomfort with being on stage with Radiohead. On the occasions when he’s not taking aim at himself, Selway chooses to direct his anger at veiled figures; perhaps politicians on “Patron Saint,” perhaps his own parents on “Broken Promises.”

Musically the album is a departure from his previous work. Gone are the massive soundscapes that were the sonic hallmarks of Radiohead. These songs are minimalist to the core. This proves to be an issue as the album is made up entirely of downbeat acoustic songs, as such, the album lacks enough thrust to propel the listener through completely from start to finish. Familial is a fairly short album so this problem is somewhat reduced, however it’s an annoyance nonetheless.

Unlike the last decade of Radiohead’s work which reveals itself in layers over time, Familial presents everything upfront. Few repeated listens are required to fully internalize Selway’s compositions. While this isn’t necessarily a fault, it certainly will decrease the desire to return to the album for many. It comes down to the songs, which are mostly enjoyable singer/songwriter dalliances from an esteemed drummer finally getting his due time in the spotlight. However if we’re being honest, had this same album had been released by an anonymous entity we wouldn’t be so enthralled. Even with all of its charms, the album just feels too safe and stationary to really capture the imagination. Thus, it ranks merely as a curiosity for Radiohead completists rather than Selways’s own All Things Must Pass.

As with his other work, the inspiration behind many of Lytle’s songs is his experiences growing up in Modesto. Even ex-daddy drummer Aaron Burtch is brought along for the ride. What becomes evident after repeated listens is how much the other members of Admiral Radley contribute. Ariana Murray and Aaron Espinoza, originally from Earlimart, are due a large share of the credit for the atmosphere and mood of the album. They balance out the gloomier side of the band (Lytle), and also contribute some great vocals.

Still, Jason Lytle is the head of the operation, and what made Lytle such a great songwriter was his ability to capture his culture from the perspective of a cynic. Even ten years after what many perceive to be his artistic peak, he’s still one of the best at juxtaposing images to describe what he sees (“Fake tits and the symphony”). In the much the same fashion, I Heart California places the delicate piano ballads right up against the snotty garage rockers. It’s fitting conceptually, and in practice gives the tracks space to stand out.

Just as the Who simultaneously celebrated and mocked 1960s’ pirate radio on The Who Sell Out, Lytle is loving and laughing at his life in California. Nearly the entire album focuses on images directly lifted from the memories of Lytle’s adolescent years with the closer, “I Left You Cuz I Luft U,” serving as his breakup note to the Golden State (Lytle now resides in Montana). That said the album isn’t purely autobiographical even though California is the focus of the songs. And the songs are by and large fantastic. Slower tracks like “Ghosts Of Syllables” and “Lonesome Co.” are thoughtfully constructed and filled with heartache. The album does disappoint on some of the upbeat songs, however. “I’m All Fucked On Beer” wears quickly and lasts about two minutes too long. Another rocker, “Sunburn Kids,” never really goes anywhere. While these weigh the album down, they represent only part of an otherwise solid debut from this well-pedigreed band.

In a satirical oration given before Pavement closed out the weekend in Union Park, Rian Murphy, co-founder of Chicago label Drag City, joked that the Pitchfork Music Festival has become the “minor league” to Lollapalooza. While Pitchfork hasn’t become Lollapalooza, there has clearly been a shift in that direction. A survey of the Pitchfork Music Festival circa 2010 will show that the audience has changed since the annual festival began in 2006. While still primarily composed of the hipsters that mark anything Pitchfork, the crowd is no longer quite so homogenous. The festival grounds now includes punk teens, overgrown hippies, frat boys, parents with their children, and pretty much everything short of a “Freebird” guy. In short, it looks a lot closer to the Lollapalooza crowd than many are comfortable to admit. In this way Pitchfork is at the crossroads. Festival organizers must decide whether to bend to outside pressure and mainstream the festival’s acts, or rigidly hold to their indie origins and book only niche artists. It’s a festival in flux, but despite this dichotomy the fest provides an array of artists capable of reaching the hardliners and casual fans without losing the eclecticism that Pitchfork is known for.

Like many, my biggest concerns going into the weekend were the sound problems of years past and how they were going to be dealt with. The issues have generally crept up at the two big stages on the North side of the grounds. For the most part, the sound issues have been rectified in 2010. The exception, and it’s no small exception, is the headlining slots. If you happen to be reasonably close and not off to the side of the stage, you’ll be hearing the show just fine. However if you’re just a little too far to the left or right of the stage, even if close to the front, you might as well be overhearing the sub-woofer of a passing car. It really can get that poor. Pitchfork, you’re pulling in a huge crowd. It’s time to invest in additional speakers for the headlining slots. It’s good for publicity and it’s good for your patrons. On a brighter note, kudos are in order for Pitchfork and the security they’ve employed. The grounds were kept safe and security was never heavy handed. Fest volunteers handed out water and ice all weekend to combat the excessive heat. There are a lot of inherent dangers associated with outdoor events in the Chicago July, but issues were kept to a minimum all weekend.

Robyn

While the festivities officially got underway with Sharon Van Etten, the first real attraction came a half hour later when the Tallest Man on Earth took the stage. While the late afternoon heat didn’t do him any favors, he managed to rally a few voices during “The Wild Hunt.” He endured admirably, especially considered he’s really better suited for a more intimate setting, or at least a place with air conditioning. Other of the earlier acts didn’t fare as well, with Liars never really getting off the ground. However, things picked up in a big way when Robyn took the stage in the early evening. I had mistakenly written her off long ago as throwaway pop. My apologies Robyn, you deserve better. She and her band played for nearly an hour of nonstop fantastic electropop, and the crowd was lapping it up for the duration. She was quickly followed by Broken Social Scene. They put in a workman’s performance with Lisa Lobsinger, a regular guest singer, providing the best moments with her gorgeous voice. Unfortunately, Friday night ended on a bit of a sour note with an uninterested and unintelligible Modest Mouse. The latter wasn’t their fault as the sound was terrible; easily the worse sound quality of the weekend. The band didn’t help their cause by looking like they too had spent the entire day standing in the sun. It’s a shame that a band with such a deep, rewarding catalog and devoted following can’t bring it for an hour and a half for one of their largest audiences.

Modest Mouse

Saturday proved to be a more enjoyable affair with pleasant surprises coming early in the form of Dâm-Funk (pronounced “Dame”). The Pasadena singer’s Funkadelic meets Kraftwerk sound was refreshingly unpretentious and a fun retreat from the earlier Titus Andronicus set. The same cannot be said for the Smith Westerns. The Chicago foursome has been hard pimped by Pitchfork for a year now, and while it’s nice to see a local act make the festival, Chicago has dozens of better and more interesting bands than this. Thankfully the Jon Spencer Blues Explosion was right around the corner to wash away the bad taste. The Explosion’s set was vivacious, sweaty and humorous.

Following on their heels was Canada’s Wolf Parade, who caught the attention of nearly the entire crowd positioned at both the A and C stages. There must be something in the water in Montreal, as Spencer Krug’s voice reminded me of fellow Montreal singer Ivan Doroshuk. Whether that’s actually admirable or just an enjoyable novelty I’m still not sure. At any rate, all indications point to Wolf Parade becoming a fest headliner in a few years. Sadly, good can often be countered by bad. In this case, the bad was Panda Bear. Panda Bear put on a debilitatingly atrocious set that sent much of the crowd at the C stage running for the concessions, bathrooms, and other stages. If circumstances were different and Panda Bear wasn’t a Pitchfork favorite playing a major time slot, he surely would have been booed out of Union Park. All this mattered not once LCD Soundsystem took the stage. For my money, LCD put on the most engrossing performance of the entire weekend. James Murphy, proving he’s really just an overgrown kid, showed excitement and vigor throughout what might be one of his last major festival appearances. The set ran long, to nobody’s surprise or concern, ending on a short rendition of “Empire Stage of Mind.”

Wolf Parade

Sunday was mostly uneventful until Lightning Bolt picked up their instruments in the late afternoon. Their guerrilla-assault noise distinguished themselves from everyone else, with drum destroyer Brian Chippendale gathering the most attention. This was followed by a short set by St. Vincent, who continues to demonstrate why she’s one of the best guitarists on the indie scene. This lead into one of the most bizarre and delightful revelations of the weekend, Major Lazer. Nothing could have prepared the crowd for sexually charged performance of DJ Diplo, Skerrit Bwoy, and the array of dancers and props. DJ sets are generally difficult to sell to large crowds, but most DJ sets don’t have Skerrit Bwoy. The music itself was utterly overshadowed by Skerrit Bwoy’s personality, as well as his acrobatic dives. How security allowed him to high jump off a 10 foot ladder into the crowd is shrouded in mystery, but the highly sexed set caught just about everyone by surprise. Big Boi put a decent, if unspectacular, hit-laden show that nicely transitioned the festival into the big finale with Pavement.

I had some trepidation about seeing Pavement live in 2010. They’ve been broken up for over a decade, and bands who reform after so much time apart often return as mere nostalgia acts. Skeptics of Pavement’s reunion will point out that over half of the band’s set came from their first two albums (which are, in effect, the “hits”). However, my concerns quickly dissipated as Pavement tore through their set with casual aggression.

Pavement


”Cut Your Hair,” their only song that could potentially qualify as a hit, was thrown to the wolves immediately. From there the band dipped into all parts of their catalog ranging from the fragile “Here” to the fluorescent and feral “Stereo.” By the end it was evident what made and continues to make Pavement such a special band; their refusal to treat the songs as museum pieces. The music is still alive and malleable and the band is invested in its performance. It’s a similarity they share with the festival itself. Pavement may very well be approaching their sell-by date. However, they’re still spirited and have something to contribute, and that’s as good of an allegory as there is for the Pitchfork Music Festival in 2010.

Pitchfork Music Festival 2010: Friday In Photos
Pitchfork Music Festival 2010: Saturday In Photos
Pitchfork Music Festival 2010: Sunday In Photos

It’s here! The Pitchfork Music Festival is taking over Chicago’s Union Park this weekend (July 16th-18th). There’s 45 artists performing over the course of three days, but here are the five that you should be sure not to miss.

The Tallest Man On Earth – Friday, 4:00 – Connector Stage

Sweden’s raspy voiced troubadour Kristian Matsson, AKA the Tallest Man On Earth, is one of must see acts of the Pitchfork Music Festival’s Friday bill. Folk is possibly the least represented genre at the fest, so make sure to catch Matsson. He’s an absolute treasure. He wins the audience over with tenderness and emotion rather than theatrics, which will come as a breath of fresh air, especially with Robyn on the same bill. Expect songs from 2008’s Shallow Grave and 2010’s even better The Wild Hunt. Smart money has the Tallest Man On Earth being one of the most satisfying performances of the entire festival.

Modest Mouse – Friday, 8:30 – Aluminum Stage

Pitchfork definitely brought the star power this year, which probably explains the price hike. Modest Mouse has always been a band that just isn’t as good live as they should be, and their headlining performance Friday will probably be no different. However, they still can be enjoyable, and given that it’s been three years since their last release it can be reasonably expected that they’ll be digging into the richer parts of their catalog (full album performance of The Moon & Antarctica maybe, or is that too much to ask?). At the very least, it can’t be argued that they’re a true headliner, which is something that the Pitchfork Music Festival has struggled with in recent years.

LCD Soundsystem – Saturday, 8:30 – Aluminum Stage

It’s long been my assertion that dance music is criminally under-appreciated in Chicago. Thankfully, the fine people at Pitchfork have brought in LCD Soundsystem as the Saturday headliner to rectify the situation. Even after a full day of a very good lineup, expect the crowd to be wild for James Murphy and his live band. Fresh off another great album, Murphy and company look to give Pavement a run for best in show. There will be no shortage of electronic hits (and probably ecstasy). Along with Panda Bear, Saturday night looks to have the most crowd dancing of the weekend. LCD alone justifies the price of admission.

St. Vincent – Sunday, 5:15 – Connector Stage

Touring behind the massive critical success of 2009’s Actor, Annie Clark, better known as St. Vincent, will be one of the must see acts on the bill for Sunday Pavement day. While she’s mostly known for that stealthy voice, St. Vincent will also impress on her guitar. Fans of melodic songcraft and distortion (so basically anyone coming for Pavement) should find something to enjoy in her set. While Annie’s studio releases sound slick and sharp, she’s a different creature in concert. Her live performances have a dirty garage rock feel to them, and she absolutely shines. Expect a heavy dose of Actor with bits of 2007’s Marry Me and perhaps even a Jackson Browne cover.

Pavement – Sunday, 8:30 – Aluminum Stage

The daddy of them all. After a decade long hiatus, the reformed Pavement is undoubtedly the biggest attraction of the entire Pitchfork Music Festival. Chicago’s appetite for Pavement is damn near insatiable, as all the tickets for Sunday and all the three day passes have sold out. Frankly, there’s nothing I can tell you about Pavement that most of you don’t already know: Malkmus and company will be bringing their lo-fi melodic noise to Chicago for the first time in over a decade, and that’s truly a gift to the ears. While it’s unlikely Pavement will be as potent live as our memories tell us, a splendid time is guaranteed for all. As for what they will play that’s just about anybody’s guess, though Pavement first timers can rest comfortably knowing “Cut Your Hair” will make an appearance.

Check out the full schedule and line-up for the festival here and be sure to check back over the next few days for our extensive coverage of the festival.

What is surprising is the NME’s level of accuracy with their take on the Drums. “The best British band from America” is more or less on the money as it’s a great description of what the Drums sound like on their self-titled debut. As for specifics, the Drums’ influences are an amalgamation of British sad-rock with ’60s pop jangle. Don’t take that to mean The Drums is a sad record. Think more Housemartins than Smiths; nobody here is as melodramatic and miserable as Morrissey. Even on the darker material (e.g. “Best Friends” and “It Will All End In Tears”), the Drums inject energy into their performances which keep the songs from bringing down the mood of the album.

The problem with that approach is it takes a very careful dance to keep things interesting over the length of an LP. The Drums has some noticeable struggles with this. It takes 21 minutes before there is even a significant change in tempo, leading to a lot of song blurring. This in effect hides the quality of the songwriting, as tracks “Let’s Go Surfing” and “Forever And Ever, Amen” simply shine when isolated. Chalk this one up to poor track sequencing rather than the raw material itself.

Petty criticisms aside, what we have here is a refreshing summer record. More importantly, this is the kind of music that gets you moving and excited. Songs like “Let’s Go Surfing” will get even the grumpiest friend you know to hit the beach. The Drums won’t offer you anything you haven’t had before, but the band does have a charm that is all their own, and The Drums is a appreciable improvement over their last release. It’s the kind of album you can play with the windows open during a July road trip, and those kinds of albums are a dying species in indie rock.

One probably expects a pretty raunchy outcome given Francis’ history, but for the most part the lyrics trend towards mild metaphors and innuendo rather than outright amorousness. When he stays on this path, things are usually compelling, such as “Oh My Tidy Sum” and “Lake Of Sin.” It’s when Francis strays from this that he falls into trouble, such as the weak “When I Go Down On You” (yes, as far as I can tell it is about that). Thankfully he doesn’t do that too often, and the album is better for it.

The best moments on the album are the slow-tempo tracks. On those, Francis takes advantage of his ever improving falsetto. This allows for some surprisingly beautiful moments that wouldn’t sound out of place on a Jeff Buckley album such as the stunning “Rabbits.” There are songs for the Pixie devotees as well, such as “Six Legged Man,” which has the same throwaway vibe of old Pixie classic “Tony’s Theme.”

The best song on the album is the stalkerish and haunting closer, “Cinema Star.” This is the closest Francis comes to hitting the highs of his best work, though it doesn’t sound like he’s deliberately reaching back into his past. Its jerky verse keeps it fresh, making it the most compelling track on the album.

So is this a change of direction for Black Francis or is this another half-baked effort? Surprisingly, it’s much more in the first category. Nobody is going to mistake this for a great album, but NonStopErotik really peaks and flows well while having enough to make it worth an additional spin or two. While it’ll probably be forgotten in the wake of the next 17 or so albums he releases this decade, chances are it’ll stand out as one of his better ones.

That’s exactly what’s missing from the live album version of Northern Lights. White it’s nice to have a collection of performances from their Canadian Icky Thump tour, these just seem like live b-sides thrown into a compilation. The banter for which Jack White has become famous for is nowhere to be found here. While some dismiss this element of the live album concept, I’ve always felt that it’s important to include as it’s often among the best moments of a live concert.

Thankfully, there is still much here to enjoy. Permeating throughout the album is the Scottish bagpipes which were a surprise feature of Icky Thump. They feel more incorporated into the music in a live setting, and they provide a new interesting introduction to old Stripes standbys such as “Let’s Shake Hands.”

The synthesized keyboards also play a larger role than expected from a two piece minimalist rock band. Not only do they appear on the keyboard driven “Icky Thump,” but they take some spots in “Seven Nation Army.” In fact, they seep into many other songs and between song noise, perhaps suggesting where Jack and Meg might be moving to in the future.

Musically, the band plays closer to the book than they have been in previous tours. The biggest difference is in Meg, who’s rhythm fluctuation isn’t nearly as noticeable as in the past. It’s no surprise that the center of the sound is Jack’s guitar screeches. He’s proficient almost to a fault, as some of the tighter band play makes the music sound less dangerous.

What is most discouraging is the condition of Jack’s voice. While he has never had what anyone would describe as a traditionally good voice, he’s always been able to push his singing in whatever way required for a given song. Here, he struggles mightily on several song performances to the point where it is a distraction. Listening to him try to hit the higher notes in “Blue Orchid” is probably the lowest point on the album.

Regardless, the overall performance is pretty good. It’s just not as great as it should be. This isn’t just any band, it’s The White Stripes. In concert is where they shine, and they don’t really shine for more than a moment here or there on Under Great White Northern Lights. And it’s a shame, because nothing would make me happier as a music critic than to recommend a White Stripes album.

That’s not to say the Silent League’s third album, But You’ve Always Been The Caretaker, sounds like Mercury Rev or Hopewell. Actually, Caretaker doesn’t even sound too much like what we’ve come to expect from a Silent League album. It’s noticeably slower, or at least it feels that way, than either of the bands previous two albums. There’s a malaise hanging over each song, making the album feel significantly closer to a Grandaddy album than one by the Silent League. Actually, Grandaddy is a natural comparison for Caretaker, as the majority of that band’s albums share the same uncomfortable sense of something eerie creeping up around the corner that perforates through Caretaker. That doesn’t mean that this is a concept album, but it does have the feel of one; the songs really do feel like they are tied together.

This feeling is not more prominent than on the cover of Electric Light Orchestra’s robot-loving “Yours Truly, 2095.” The lead vocal is sung through a vocoder, and while the presence of a vocoder is normally irritable, it is well suited for the back from the future theme of the song. While the song does not depart greatly from the original, it does fit nicely into the Caretaker and perhaps even provides a little break from the low-tempo that defines most of the songs on the album.

Russo has crafted an album that doesn’t give up the goods right away. Instead, listeners will be forced to dig through the album for the gems. Keeping with that, the highlight track, “Here’s A Star,” doesn’t come in until halfway through the album. The melody slowly works its way into the listener’s head and doesn’t leave for quite some time. Most significantly, it’s on this track that the band’s use of orchestration reaches its zenith. It’s not there as decoration, but it’s not overwhelming the song. “Here’s A Star” sounds like it was meant to be performed this way, and that’s the kind of Orc-Pop the band have been searching for their entire career.

The songwriting is strong and the performances are individually great as well. However, the album really does drag its feet from time to time, making it difficult to take in at once. With an album that clocks in at almost 50 minutes, a lot of attention needs to be paid to the pacing of the album, and that does not appear to be the case here. Many great songs fall out of focus because they blend too well with its neighbors. Although simply reordering the tracks would not fix this problem, it would help a fair amount. Songs like “Little I” and “The Ohio Winter Conventioners” could be taken out to aid the flow of the album, and Caretaker would be better off for it. In the end, these are really minor complaints about what really is a strong album by an ever improving band. This is a direction that sounds promising for the Silent League, and in due time we’ll see if they can pull all the pieces together. They’re so tantalizingly close.

Considering their lofty status as the definitive American band of the ’90s, it seemed odd that Nirvana’s most triumphant moment – their headlining performance at the 1992 Reading Music Festival – had never been commercially released. This performance took place at the pinnacle of Kurt Cobain’s life. His band was a worldwide phenomenon and life in the spotlight hadn’t yet worn out the Nirvana leader. Kurt’s home life was still serene due to the birth of his daughter, Francis Bean. Cobain’s sense of humor, a quality that has been forgotten in the wake of the band’s tragedy, was on full display as Cobain showed up in a wheelchair and hospital gown to bait the press.

In a way, it’s surprising that the performance is as strong as it is. By Dave Grohl’s account, the band had only one sloppy practice prior to the performance. Yet, the band played tight and energetically throughout the Reading performance. As one might expect, Nevermind is well represented in the setlist with all but one track from the seminal album making an appearance. Most of the remainder of the performance is made up of Bleach tracks and non-album tracks. It’s on the older, rawer material such as “School,” “Negative Creep,” and “Blew” that the band sound strongest and most interested, indicating that Cobain and company were already trying to shed the image that had been attached to them after the success of Nevermind.

The key feature of Live at Reading, however, is how it captures this important band at the peak of their power. Grohl delivered his most crushing blows behind the drum kit, Krist Novoselic was playing fluid, melodic bass lines, and Kurt’s guitar and voice were at their shredding best. As evidenced by the show, the band were still happy being in Nirvana, and they were playing as if they were still in the small clubs of Seattle rather than the arena-fillers they were now accustomed to. It wouldn’t be long before the burden of fame crushed the band and compelled Cobain to kill himself. Live at Reading serves both as a historical record and live album thriller, and as such should be considered one of the greatest live albums ever released.

The good news is vampires don’t factor into the soundtrack like they do in the movie. Few of the tracks sound as though they were specifically created with the movie in mind. The New Moon Soundtrack is simply a collection of popular and soon to be popular artists producing songs they probably would have made at some point anyway. This is pretty typical of soundtracks by multiple artists, and it reveals the true intent behind the soundtrack. This wasn’t created for the purpose of providing the best audio context to the movie, but rather it seems the album was designed for gathering hype for a movie that would otherwise have been off the radar in the indie world. Of all the submissions, only those by the OK Go and Grizzly Bear feel like they may have been made with the movie in mind, and even those don’t stray far from the artists’ respective sound.

Given last year’s Twilight soundtrack, the fear of another shoddy followup was very real. However, there is a surprising number of great tunes to be found. Radiohead’s Thom Yorke offers up “Hearing Damage,” a tune that easily outpaces the single he released earlier this year. Its electronic beats put it squarely in the same department as his 2006 solo album The Eraser. Aforementioned indie-heroes Grizzly Bear present the transcendent “Slow Life” which is the album’s highlight track. There are also solid contributions from Band Of Skulls, Death Cab For Cutie, Bon Iver & St. Vincent, Hurricane Bells, and Anya Marina. Even the Killers provide a listenable track.

The rest is just filler to provide the aural backdrop to the movie. Lykke Li’s “Possibility” drags it’s knuckles for five minutes without ever providing a reward for listeners. “No Sound But The Wind” and “Done All Wrong” both seem to have no purpose other than to score sad scenes in the movie. Similar to Lykke Li’s offering, Sea Wolf’s “The Violet Hour” seems just a bit too slow to ever build up to anything.

It is somewhat difficult to understand how this soundtrack has a place in a tween vampire movie. As a collection of songs, it’s certainly alright, but there are only a handful of memorable moments. Since many people will only be interested in a small handful of the album’s tracks, it’s probably best to just download the songs you like and leave the rest, as there isn’t any consistency or flow.

To the untrained eye, Oh My God singer Billy O’Neill seems like everything your parents tried to shield you from when you were young. His brash, violent, feral onstage persona looks more like a vision from a bad acid trip than soulful crooner. It’s that kind of juxtaposition that defines the Oh My God live show.

Subtlety is simply not part of the Oh My God live show. O’Neill may attract the most attention, but the driving force behind the sound is keyboardist Ig. The electric-shriek emanating from his instrument is an unlikely counterpoint to the shockingly pretty sound of O’Neill’s Michael Stipe-esque vocals. There’s perhaps no more earnest singer working today. O’Neill infuses each song with a different emotion, from the intentionally half-hearted delivery on the word ‘boring’ during the chorus “The Unbearable Pageant” to the raging confusion of “Fools Want Noise.”

One of my main concerns going into the show was how the new band members were going to work with the band. Very well, it turns out; these certainly aren’t ‘rent-a-musicians.’ The onstage camaraderie plays like the kind developed over years, not mere months. New guitarist and vocalist Zach Verdoorn sounds great backing O’Neill, and new drummer Danny Yost keeps a steady beat.

Oh My God is on tour again behind new album, The Night Undoes The Work Of The Day. About a third of the show is made up of new material; more than any other individual Oh My God album. New songs that felt somewhat limp on record come to life in this setting. The rhythm of “My Own Adventure” sounds a lot more danceable live. “Baby There’s Nothing Wrong (You Just Gotta Go To Work)” comes off better in this setting as well, seething with a wrath that was more understated on the album. Sounds pretty raging, yet those are only the ‘lighter’ songs.

The band hit top gear about midway through the set. Upon introducing “Facewash,” O’Neill states, “Here’s a question all of you have the same answer to.” It’s not so much the power as the attacking of social taboos that beat the audience into submission. The frontman addresses topics such as the US’s continued presence in Iraq. However, O’Neill serves these issues with a sense of humor. He possesses a unique ability to not take himself so seriously, an ability highlighted by his pink short-shorts worn over bright red pants. Every attack on your sensibilities is delivered with a wink and smirk. Behind his juvenile behavior belies intelligence, which comes through best on the stage banter.

I’ve been to a lot of shows in the last several months, and the ones that stand out to me in hindsight are the ones that brought the audience into the performance, which is precisely what Oh My God performance accomplished. One cannot simply observe the band play, rather they are dragged into the show willingly or otherwise.

Openers:
Anthony Gravino
Curb Service
Heyokas

Setlist:
• The Unbearable Pageant
• Fools Want Noise
• Action!
• Two-Hand Touch
• Baby There’s Nothin’ Wrong (You Just Gotta Go To Work)
• My Own Adventure
• Bring Yourself
• Torture
• Facewash
• Liberal
• My Life Is A Warfare
• Get Steady
• One Thing Leads To Another

With this in mind, we take on the Flaming Lips new album, Embryonic. This is an album best suited for front to back listening in order to fully absorb. For non-fans, this can be extraordinarily daunting due both to the density of the sound and the length of the album. For those listeners, judgment of the album will come down to the quality of the songs. There are some quality songs here, that’s for sure. However, the band has buried much of the melody under layers of ambience. In some cases this works to make the songs more forceful. Take the opener, “Convinced Of The Hex.” There is a lot of stuff going on, but the listener isn’t overwhelmed by the beeps and chimes, and consequently the song is able to breathe. This isn’t the case elsewhere. On “Worm Mountain” the band doesn’t allow the song much space. The song struggles to keep its head above the surface, and its impact on the listener is greatly reduced. The fate of most of the songs on Embryonic come down to how much room there is for all the various sounds Coyne has put into the mix.

One of the most noticeable traits of the album is how low the vocals are in the mix. For fans that joined up after the Soft Bulletin or Yoshimi Battles The Pink Robots, this will come as a surprise. This is arguably a good thing, as Wayne Coyne’s voice is in same the category as Neil Young’s, which is to say that while it’s very recognizable, it’s not very conventionally “good.” This reduces that issue considerably, even if it means that the lyrics are nearly impossible to hear. Again, this is arguably a good thing, as many of Wayne’s lyrics amount to barely more than random disconnected thoughts. It also shifts more focus onto sonic atmosphere, which is the album’s thematic crux.

Good Flaming Lips songs find their niche within the soundscapes the band provides them. On Embryonic, the songs don’t settle into their places as much as they fight for elbow room. This creates tension, which gives the album a punch that the Flaming Lips haven’t had since the mid-nineties. The downside of this is it doesn’t give the album much of a flow, and with the album running well over an hour, this is a major concern. The Flaming Lips certainly are the kind of band that can produce interesting atmospheres, however they are slumping here. While many of the soundscapes stand out when the track is isolated, they just blend together when listening to the album as a whole. Nothing stands out other than the occasional song that is just too strong to remain hidden under the weight of the ambience.

What this means is that Embryonic won’t be sharing the same lofty air as Flaming Lips classics of the past ten years like The Soft Bulletin or Yoshimi, but that isn’t to say the album is a letdown. Coyne and company are trying to work within a sonic vein that they haven’t tapped yet; a venture worth pursuing. The album sounds like the Flaming Lips, but it doesn’t sound like an album they’ve already done. And furthermore, the album is definitely interesting. However, the Flaming Lips have just been caught doing what even the best bands are apt to do when they get ambitious; they try too hard as they traverse the wild and bizarre. The album just can’t stand under its own immense weight. It’s not just a matter of album length; even if edited down to a normal running length, most listeners would be incapable of pulling all the various sounds and ideas together into a cohesive sound. This is the sound of a veteran band breaking out of its jail cell, not the reinvention that is being strived for, and this is due to the overstepping of the band’s leader. Had Wayne Coyne just accepted that he’s an oddball songsmith instead of the wizard of weird, Embryonic would have been much better.

While on tour for their last album, 2007’s Fools Want Noise, Oh My God was involved in a high speed collision with a drunk driver, causing not only the cancellation of that tour, but also many months of physical rehabilitation for all the parties involved. Two members left the band, leaving just singer Billy O’Neill and keyboardist Ig to pick up the pieces. To add insult to injury, O’Neill and his wife separated, and Ig’s spouse was diagnosed with thyroid cancer. In short, Oh My God went through the perfect storm of misfortune capable of taking down even the most resilient bands, and these weren’t the most stable people to begin with.

All this comes at a time when the band is transitioning sonically. It wasn’t until the 2007 tour that the band employed a full-time guitarist. While there had been instances of guitar in their early work, the guitar only ever functioned as decoration around Ig’s keyboard buzz. The guitar was just beginning to break through as a lead instrument when the band had their auto crash. Perhaps as a result, it can be very difficult at times to identify where the guitar is on this record. That doesn’t mean they’ve returned to their old sound; few of the songs here sound like what we’ve come to expect from Oh My God.

Frankly, it’s a surprise there even is a new Oh My God album. More surprising still is how optimistic the record sounds. Sure, there are some pretty morose subtexts to these songs, such as “Baby There’s Nothin’ Wrong (You Just Gotta Go To Work),” “I Don’t Think It’s Funny (How Time Slips Away),” and “Strangers On A Train.” However, this is the most pop sounding record the band has recorded. The grinding keyboards that typified Oh My God are absent from most of the tracks, with more traditional sounding piano taking its place. Less than half the album features Ig’s signature keyboard-crunch. Of those tracks, it’s “I Dare You To Love Me” that harkens back to their classic sound the most, and not coincidently it is the strongest track on the album. The cover of the Fixx’s 1983 classic “One Thing Leads To Another” also stands out as a great Oh My God performance. That’s not to say the smoother piano sound doesn’t have a charm of its own. Nothing Oh My God has previously recorded comes close to approximating the crushing loneliness of “Strangers On A Train,” nor has the band previously been able to touch on the tenderness of “My Juliet.”

Yet, there is something missing here. It’s hard not to miss the confrontational fury of Fools Want Noise when listening to these tracks. There is some anger is present here, but for the most part the album lacks the fervent assault of Oh My God’s past work. Given the circumstances of the band members, it’s understandable why Oh My God made a record like this. To be fair to the band, this album marks a departure sonically from the past. The problem is the new sound doesn’t feel fully fleshed out. The record doesn’t pulsate like one expects an Oh My God album to, which isn’t a failure to meet expectations as much as it is a lack of energy in the majority of the songs. Perhaps they haven’t recovered quite enough yet to resume business as usual. In spite of all this, the album manages to be an interesting listening experience. The Night Undoes The Work Of The Day is the document of a band that’s been roughed up pretty badly, but even a wounded Oh My God can exorcise a few demons.

That was nearly 20 years ago. In between 1991 and 2009, Pearl Jam has gone through five drummers and changed very little. If anything’s different, it’s that they’ve mellowed. Hey, a lot of bands mellow over time, especially as they try to “grow up.” The problem is aggression is a crutch Pearl Jam uses to cover up its flaws. And flaws there are–primarily, they were never a particularly melodic band. They also weren’t terribly prolific. Their third album, 1994′s Vitalogy, survived greatly on the strength of songs written in the bands early days (or in the case of “Better Man,” the members’ previous bands). Once that well was tapped, the band sank into mediocrity, and have yet to truly bounce back.

Enter Backspacer, Pearl Jam’s ninth studio album. As with the previous eight, the album has two types of songs: high-energy rock numbers and slower, folk-tinged ballads. That’s not to say this is a formulaic repeat of previous successes. The band isn’t trying so hard to force their raw, in-your-face power like their past selves would have done. They even turn down the distortion for the majority of the album. This would be a very poor move if not for the fact that there are some surprisingly melodic up-tempo tunes present. These aren’t great songs, but they are good, and good songs in the hands of a band as capable as Pearl Jam can make for a fun listen.

The problem, as has been the case for just about every Pearl Jam album since their mid-’90s peak, is how the slow songs sound so unconvincing. It gets particularly bad with “Just Breathe” and “Speed Of Sound” which should never have seen the light of day. Pearl Jam hasn’t been able to pull off that kind of song in over a decade, but it doesn’t appear they realize it. This is a band that works best when they’re rocking so hard they’re falling down on stage. They don’t function well when they’re trying to get you to hold up your lighter–not anymore, anyway. Perhaps the most disheartening aspect of the slow numbers is how worn-out Vedder’s voice sounds. He still has it, but he sounds like a man closer to his mid-fifties rather than his mid-forties. Ultimately this doesn’t matter, as these aren’t songs that can be saved. Vedder is tailor-made for the fast numbers. On those his rasp sounds fresh, and Vedder shows he can still tear through a song.

Pearl Jam has also toned down the overt political messages. Perhaps the election of Barack Obama has given Vedder less to complain about. In any case, this is welcome, as past Pearl Jam political sloganeering has come across as far too obtuse (the 2000s may have been rough, but “World Wide Suicide,” really?). The biggest change of them all, however, is how short the album is. Of Pearl Jam’s previous eight studio albums, none ran shorter than 46 minutes, and half were over the 50 minute mark. That makes the 36 minute Backspacer a very surprising turn. The bad songs are over quickly, but the good songs end too fast as well. Overall, this is a positive development, as the songs aren’t unnecessarily extended like Pearl Jam tends to do.

These changes can’t cover up the fact that while there are good songs here, there aren’t any true home runs. Really, the only songs that stand out in memory are the bad ones. The rest are squarely in the same basket as most of the band’s work from the past 15 years. What that means is this isn’t a record you have to own, even if you are a Pearl Jam fan. The album will exceed the expectations of a lot of cynics, but it doesn’t come anywhere close to the band’s early ’90s zenith.