Carousel corner.

Every once in a while one simply stumbles across something which, in spite of one's efforts to stay "on top" of events, releases, and trends--the self-anointed tasks of all critics, that fills a gap in musical or cultural history, offers an unparalleled experience, and is too lovely by half. My recent and belated discovery is a web site chock full of Bill Graham's concert tapes from the '60s onward, fashioned at the sound board of various venues, most commonly his Fillmore West and East concert halls.

www.wolfgangsvault.com is divided into a couple of enterprises. First, for those of you into purchasing nostalgia and/or collectibles, Wolfgang's Vault offers an impressive array of vintage and non-vintage replica concert posters, t-shirts, ticket stubs, and what have you--have your credit card handy. But the real treasure is the huge collection of full concert recordings, from the original Quicksilver Messenger Service or King Crimson line-ups to balls-to-the-wall performances from The Who (1968) or Springsteen (1978), all configured for streaming audio, which automatically senses your connection's bandwidth and serves up the appropriate streaming bit rate. Best of all ... it's free. Yep, the only item you surrender is your email address. Otherwise, you simply click on one of the 330 concerts of your choice and let 'er rip.

I grew up--well, as much as anyone can who's a lifelong captive of pop music--in San Francisco in the '60s and '70s and haunted the City's concert venues, Longshoreman's Hall, the original Fillmore Auditorium, The Matrix, the Carousel Ballroom (later rechristened Fillmore West), and Winterland, as much as a student's budget would permit. This was a time of a Brobdingnagian musical explosion with local or locally based groups including Jefferson Airplane, Grateful Dead, Youngbloods, Country Joe and the Fish, Big Brother and the Holding Company, Santana, It's A Beautiful Day, Paul Butterfield Blues Band, Steve Miller Band, Moby Grape, Doobie Brothers, and many more. All have one or more concerts in Wolfgang's Vault. But the Vault isn't limited to Bay Area acts. You can also find Black Sabbath, Billy Idol, early Elton John, the Mothers of Invention, Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young, Cream, and a host of others.

Yes, for one unrepentant hippie, Wolfgang's Vault is one delightful trip after another down the callow halls of youth. But it's also great music, performed live by historic bands who mattered then and matter now. If nothing else I'd suggest dialing up, say, It's A Beautiful Day from 1971 or Fleetwood Mac from 1975, as the perfect complement to another day slugging it out in the cubicle. Besides, once the stream is buffered (a hour's worth buffers in seconds with a broadband connection), you can pause it to take or make that all-important phone call. The site has started offering some concerts for downloading at $9.98 each.

The Death of Internet Radio? In a bizarre twist to a sordid tale of corporate machinations and government capitulation, this past March the Copyright Royalty Board, which decides the rate at which both artists and recording companies are reimbursed for broadcast music, announced the royalty rate for internet radio broadcasts. Royalty rate setting is a topic reeking of arcana, yet it is vitally important to both the artists and the netcasters. Simply put, over-the-air broadcasters, which would include media giants like Viacom, Clear Channel, and Westwood One, pay no performance royalties. This is on the theory that airplay benefits the recording companies and artists by publicizing their product. Net broadcasters, however, would pay a per song per listener rate because their transmission is digital and, therefore, in the opinion of the recording companies, subject to the royalty requirements of the Digital Millennium Copyright Act of 1995 (DMCA). The result of this difference in consideration is that under the new royalty rates, retroactive to 2006, constitute an enormous cost, in most instances exceeding the annual revenues of virtually all netcasters. Prior to the CRB's rate announcement, netcasters paid a percentage of their gross revenues as royalties. Under the new rule, however, even a behemoth like AOL Radio would be liable for over $20 million in royalties for 2006 alone. If allowed to stand, the CRB's rates will effectively silence internet radio.

In some measures the recording industry's (represented by the Recording Industry Association of America [RIAA]) victory is sweet revenge for being outmaneuvered years ago by over-the-air broadcasters (represented by the National Association of Broadcasters [NAB]), which successfully evaded the RIAA's performance royalty net. The RIAA has successfully capitalized on the digital piracy hysteria it created and has carefully nurtured since the advent of home/user digital recording technology, deploying creative interpretations of the DMCA to squeeze its tribute from legitimate enterprises, meanwhile prosecuting children and grandmothers for sharing MP3 files.

One ponders in vain at the wisdom of the RIAA's successful campaign with the CRB to foist such draconian rates on internet radio. First, there is ample documentation that CD sales are in fact boosted by internet radio. Just as with their OTA counterparts, net play serves as free publicity for recorded product, and most netcasters include links to internet buying services, such as amazon.com. (Anecdotally--"me-search" at its finest--over half of the CDs I've purchased in the past 3-4 years were from an on-line shopping service due to something I heard on a netcast.) Second, the economics don't make sense. Even a percentage of revenue is better than nothing, which is exactly what the recording companies will reap if the royalty rates indeed drive the netcasters out of business. To boot, the smarter netcasters will simply set up shop in Vancouver, Toronto, or Ciudad Juarez, where the RIAA can't touch them. Third, even if web streaming is digital, it's very difficult to record. The software I've seen is primitive at best and loaded with adware.

The mind reels at the sheer nerve, chutzpah, and unmitigated arrogance of the recording industry. They treat their artists like slaves and treat the medium that publicizes their product like indentured servants. Don't get me wrong, I'm no fan of Big Radio. If it weren't for the corporate homogenization of OTA broadcasting, neither satellite nor net radio would stand a competitive prayer--why pay for quality and variety if you can get it free?

Worst of all, though, they consider their customers to be criminal ingrates. Although the RIAA's flak machine is in full gear, alleging that they're protecting their artists, the industry's legendary and arcane accounting practices, which pay the record companies first for their "investment" in the artists, will assure that the bulk of the royalty revenue will go to them. The balance, if anything, may go to the artists.

On April 16th the CRB's judicial body, the Copyright Royalty Judges, who hear appeals of CRB decisions, denied all motions by a coalition of netcasters to reconsider the CRB's March 2nd rate determination. A couple of days later, however, the RIAA approached a number of netcasters offering to negotiate rates that, while still fairly steep, will allow the netcasters to stay in business. Of course, this means that the netcasters will have to open their books to the RIAA--something the RIAA's constituents have successfully resisted for decades--to permit the RIAA to squeeze out of them every penny that they can.

It appears now that the RIAA's strategy all along was to force the netcasters to the bargaining table from a position of near total dominance, legalized extortion at its finest: you can negotiate the survival of your business or pay up. Bottom line? I think net radio survives, but the little guys either raise their rates or start selling advertising or subscriber fees, or sell part of their business to the bigger guys. It will eventually force an involuntary consolidation of the industry. The RIAA likes this because they have to deal with fewer players, and those left standing have more money for the RIAA to go after.

The real victory for the RIAA is the precedent. Now they can go after OTA broadcasters, who have eluded the RIAA's net since time immemorial.

This has nothing to do with artistic integrity. It has to do with lost revenues/profits and the erosion of the recording industry's position in the market place. They're looking at any and all options to recapture the revenue stream lost to the transformation of the popular music medium from CDs to MP3s. They're publicly held companies, and their shareholders are screaming bloody murder as stock values fail to exceed average market growth. So, they invent the pirating/filesharing and digital copying myths to explain the drop in CD sales. When those don't stop the bleeding, they go after the nearest pile of money, in this case the netcasters.

The real problem is that CDs are still way too expensive, MP3s offer "equivalent" sound at a fraction of the cost (I dispute the sonic equivalency because it's not--but that's another discussion), and home theater and home gaming systems compete for the same entertainment dollar. They may or may not have figured this out yet, but that doesn't erase the fact that it's a huge, bloated industry operating on an obsolete economic model. The CD saved their carcasses 25 years ago, but there's simply nothing out there now that will do it this time.

According to lawyers representing the netcasters, they will appeal the CRJ decision to the U.S. appellate courts, which may allow the netcasters time to pursue the only realistic solution: Congressional intervention. Representatives Jay Inslee (D-WA) and Donald Manzullo (R-IL) have introduced H.R. 2060, The Internet Radio Equality Act, which may set aside the CRB's March 2nd rate determinations and substitute a royalty schedule based on either a per listener per hour formula or a percentage of net revenues--much like the schedule in place prior to the CRB's rate determination. As I write this, the new rates go into effect on May 15th. Neither the RIAA and netcasters have negotiated an alternative, nor has the House bill gone anywhere. For up to date information see www.saveinternetradio.org.

Owing as much to an unusually rich spate of new (and some rediscovered) releases as T$S's, er, leisurely publishing schedule, we have quite a backlog to deal with, so this ish, it's Abbreviations and nuthin' but.

My Chemical Romance, The Black Parade (Reprise) ****

After equal measures of critical praise and disdain for their first two discs, an undeterred Gerald Way and cohorts have unleashed this singular tour de force, itself equal measures of lyrical songwriting, angry punk thrash, bombastic theatricality, and desperate, anthemic, angst riddled rock'n'roll. Imagine a band driven by the ghosts of the Ramones, Billy Idol, and Queen--hard bitten, defiant, tenderly vulnerable, self-destructive: The Black Parade is all this, a breathless, careening, headlong rush into some psychic chasm of teen self-loathing. I even forgive them the treacly ballad, "Cancer," but that one cost 'em the fifth star.

KT Tunstall's Acoustic Extravaganza (Relentless) ****

While Acoustic Extravaganza isn't quite so arresting as her debut, Eye to the Telescope (reviewed in No. 111), there is no escaping the young Scot prodigy's talent for a catchy tune. For Acoustic Extravaganza Tunstall assembled sidemen wielding nothing but acoustic instruments in lieu of the largely one-woman affair of Eye. The effect, tho' relatively subdued, complements the slower more contemplative clutch of songs. And like consoeurs Nellie McKay and Norah Jones, she sings from the heart--even to the point of dropping the odd f-bomb. Still, not a word or phrase is out of place, making Extravaganza a worthy sophomore effort with the seductive promise of more to come.

John Mellencamp, Freedom's Road (Universal Republic) ****

Frankly, I'm as sick and tired as you of Chevrolet's shameless pandering of "Our Country" to hawk their trucks. And I'm a little disappointed that Mellencamp could be so co-opted at this point in his career. Nonetheless, Freedom's Road, a paean to Middle America's honesty and a repudiation of its coarser tendencies ("Jim Crow" with a vocal assist from Joan Baez), offers a generous helping of Mellencamp's gritty songcrafting and an equally generous dose of his 2x4-upside-the-head lyrics. His heart's in the right place, but you are meant to get the point. Despite all this dreary flag waving, longtime bandmates Andy York and Mike Wanchic are at their very best. Wanchic got his hands on a Rickenbacker 12-string and isn't afraid to use it.

Snakefarm, Songs from My Funeral (RCA) ***

Snakefarm is Anna Domino and Michel Delory, and what they do on Songs from My Funeral is update very old, traditional American folk songs in post-modern style with elements gleaned from rock, electronica, and trip-hop. You'll recognize the songs: "(House of the) Rising Sun," "Tom Dooley," "St. James (Infirmary)," but I guarantee you won't recognize the arrangements. "Banks of the Ohio" is probably the best of a very good lot. If you admire Lloyd Price's "Stagger Lee," Dylan's "Corrine, Corrina," or even The Weavers' "Goodnight, Irene," then you will find Songs from My Funeral compelling.

Penguin Cafe Orchestra, Preludes, Airs and Yodels (Carol) ****

If you believe any of the band's writings, PCO was assembled after founder Simon Jeffes, in a state of delirium induced apparently by bad fish, was summoned by the proprietor of the Penguin Cafe and encouraged to produce surreal music. Trouble is the Penguin Cafe nor its owner don't exist. Fortunately, PCO does. I picked up this gem after hearing "Steady State" on Radio Paradise. Turns out Preludes is a sampler compiled from the band's first six albums. In addition to "Steady State" standouts include "Penguin Cafe Single" with a rhythm figure lifted whole cloth from of Huey Lewis's "Heart and Soul" and the sublime "Music for a Found Harmonium."

The Apples in Stereo, New Magnetic Wonder (YepRoc) ***

New Magnetic Wonder propels this implacably sunny pop band beyond the heights of 2002'a Velocity of Sound with a collection of, well, sunny pop tunes stitched together with instrumental snippets and dribs and drabs of electronica. Drummer/vocalist Hillarie Sydney left the band just as New Magnetic Wonder was released. Her voice, as much as her cowbell, had been an essential component of the band's sound, and it will be interesting to see how they compensate for her loss.

Smithereens, Meet the Smithereens! (Koch) ***

Interpretations of Beatles albums has been done before, Big Daddy's Sgt. Pepper's, Phish's The Beatles (White Album) from their 1994 Halloween concert (Live Phish 13), and the Rubber Soul tribute This Bird Has Flown. Pat Dinizio's Smithereens have upped the ante with a note-for-note recreation of the seminal Meet the Beatles! I'm not sure if it artistically approaches the original, but it is a fine recording, and the Smithereens have nailed its substance if not all its infectious spirit.

Patty Griffin, Children Running Through (ATO) ****

Griffin's made a career of pulling the best elements of folk, gospel, and honky tonk into a personal body of work at once recognizable but hardly derivative. It's the sort of musical versatility that both older and younger artists (say, Tori Amos or Norah Jones) could afford to embrace. On Children Running Through, Griffin gathers her many influences into one statement, starting with a soft ballad, "You'll Remember," before busting out on a big band blues ("Stay on the Ride") and landing on country gospel ("Trapeze"). The attentive listener can revel in a phalanx of female singer/songwriters that have come to dominate the marketplace (Amos, Jones, Jewel, Beth Orton, Sarah Harmer, Patty Larkin, Vienna Teng, Nellie McKay, KT Tunstall, Fiona Apple, and so many more), but few, with the possible exception of Joan Osborne (see below), are as musically adventurous as Patty Griffin, and Children Running Through is the proof.

Joan Osborne, Pretty Little Stranger (Vanguard) ****

Seems like Osborne is carefully picking her way through American music genre by genre. On the heels of How Sweet it Is, an affectionate take on Motown soul, comes Pretty Little Stranger, an equally fond foray into Nashville. While it is not remarkable that a singer of her prowess and passion could successfully adopt any genre, Pretty Little Stranger is striking for the strength of her original songwriting ("Pretty Little Stranger", "Who Divided") as well as the fresh light she sheds on nuggets like "Brokedown Palace" and "Till I Get It Right."

Crowded House, Farewell to the World (Capitol) ***

In an eerie tableau much like The Last Waltz, Neil Finn and company brought drummer Paul Hester back for one last hurrah on the steps of the Sydney Opera House before razing their own house for good. Hester, like The Band's Richard Manuel, would die by his own hand shortly thereafter. The venue is much too grand, the setting much too schmaltzy, and occasionally Finn meanders off key. But it was free, the band's gift to its fans and a fitting headstone to its legacy.

Alejandro Escovedo, A Man Under the Influence (Bloodshot) ***

The scion of one of the premier Latino musical families, which includes Pete Escovedo (Santana) and Sheila E. (Prince), Alejandro Escovedo started life with the True Believers before going solo and bouncing from one label to another. A Man Under the Influence, his fifth solo disc, showcases his restrained, melodic pop sense, ably captured by ex-dB Chris Stamey at the production console, with signature tunes like "Wave" and "Rhapsody." And just when you think Escovedo's captured the perfect mood, he rips it up with a rocker like "Castanets." Very cool disc.

Joanna Newsom, Ys (Drag City) ****

Newsom's debut, 2004's The Milk-Eyed Mender, revealed an ambitious songwriter whose voice, described as "somewhere between a child and a crone," wasn't up to the task. Undaunted, Newsom's returned with Ys, a five-song suite; each is very long and fairly dripping with rich imagery--and which may or may not tell an actual story. While her voice hasn't improved much, it's less strident than on Mender, and Van Dyke Parks's string arrangements, sometimes juxtaposed with a banjo or marimba, capture Newsom's lurching tempi with graceful swoops and swirls. Although I don't know quite what to make of it, Ys is a magnificent work. Pray for singing lessons.

Norah Jones, Not Too Late (Blue Note) ***

There seems to be a critical sentiment that the sultriness that is Norah Jones is some youthful pose that will be shed once she decides to bust out with an abrupt change in direction as astonishing as her debut, 2002's Come Away with Me. Although Not Too Late lacks the studio burnishing provided by the revered and late Arif Mardin, it doesn't stray too very far from her strengths: a quiet, insistent voice, smart songs, and tasteful arrangements. Not Too Late is Jones's first disc of all-original material, most penned with boyfriend/bassist Lee Alexander. And while it doesn't bound across genres like Come Away with Me and Feels Like Home, Not Too Late is personal, soulful, and, yes, sultry.

Brandi Carlile (Red Ink) ***

This is an interesting debut album penned by Carlile and bandmates, twin brothers Tim and Phil Hanseroth. While firmly ensconced in gentle soft pop, occasionally they cut lose as with Tim's "What Can I Say." Her second disc, The Story, produced by T-Bone Burnett was just released.

Gnarls Barkley, St. Elsewhere (Downtown) **

Yes, "Crazy", a good-but-not-great-rendition of old time Philly soul, was the hit of 2006, and lord knows Danger Mouse is as madly inventive a producer as there is, but the rest of this disc doesn't stand up to repeated listenings.

Arctic Monkeys, Whatever People Say that I Am, That's What I'm Not (Domino) ***

The saga of this band is what happens when pack journalism gets it right--a matter of luck rather than critical acuity--and the product meets and in some measure exceeds expectations. This Yorkshire teen quartet, in what seems to be a remarkably brief period (the flak has them getting guitars for Christmas 2003 and a recording contract by Christmas 2004--almost too good to be true), appears to have absorbed a host of post-punk influences, such as the White Stripes and the Vines, as well as time honored thrashers like The Clash and The Jam. Whatever People Say that I Am ... reflects all of them as well as the edgy violent anger of the council flats. It is an uneven disc, brilliant in parts, youthfully exuberant in others, characterized by a determinedly upthrust middle finger and an ear for melody. Their second disc, Favourite Worst Nightmare, was released in April.

The Shins, Wincing the Night Away (Sub Pop) ****

The first aspect of Wincing the Night Away which separates itself from The Shins' first two discs, Chutes Too Narrow and Oh, Inverted World, is the fullness--almost too slick--of the production. Gone are the spare, wispy arrangements, however appropriate they were for the band's objectives, yielding to a punchier, grittier sound that relies far more on crunchy guitars and booming drums than indie ambience. What hasn't changed is James Mercer's murky, whimsical lyricism. Natalie Portman proclaimed in Garden State, "The Shins will change your life!" I don't think that will happen if you buy this disc. However, your life will be better for it.

Widespread Panic, Ball (Silverline) **

I like Widespread Panic, as good as a boogie band as there is today. But, like Phish and the Dead, too often their studio product doesn't rise to the level of excellence of their live performances. I picked up Ball on the strength of hearing "Fishing" on Radio Paradise. "Fishing" is a winner. The balance of the disc barely treads water.

J.J. Cale & Eric Clapton, The Road to Escondido (Reprise) ***

Of course it's no secret that J.J. Cale has been one of Clapton's heroes since Clapton struck out on his own, turning Cale-penned tunes like "Cocaine" and "After Midnight" into bona fide hits. So one might expect this summit of sorts to evolve into a transcendent experience, but it doesn't. Oh, the music is very, very good, and each has plenty of room to get off the kinds of licks that made Cale a guilty pleasure and Clapton a god in his own time. The Road to Escondido is a well-crafted disc of blacktop blues that I believe works best in a shuffled environment which might include Junior Brown, Bill Kirchen, and Chris Hillman and Herb Pederson in their Bakersfield mode.

Sneaker Pimps, Becoming X (Virgin) ***

This trip hop trio, fashioned after the likes of Portishead and Tricky, relies on trance-like rhythmic structures, masses of electronica, and a unique sense of melody to shape songs that cross over into the pop realm, especially "6 Underground" and "Post-Modern Sleaze." Kelli Dayton's vocals have likely provided the model for later bands like Hem and Hooverphonic, hybrid ventures which make, like the Sneaker Pimps, trip hop more than a console curiosity.

Lindsey Buckingham, Under the Skin (Reprise) ***

"I'm not a young man, but I'm a child in my soul" from Under the Skin's opener, "Not Too Late," about sums up today's Lindsey Buckingham, the once and former eleventeenth Fleetwood Mac guitarist. For someone whose guitar and songwriting creds have long since been solidly established, Buckingham's ornate paean to self-doubt, contradicts the mature muscularity of his guitar playing and the familiarly fragile voice. Under the Skin is one songwriting showcase after another, a beguiling, mature work which alone could propel a latter day Mac's, such as it is, return to prominence.

Deerhoof, Friend Opportunity (Kill Rock Stars) ****

I love experimental art noise bands. They're a crap shoot: either they pull off crazy juxtapositions, such as Deerhoof's sweet, melodic vocals amid flying shards of guitar, hiccupping percussion, and a suffusion of seeming random instrumentation, or they're just, well, noise. Vocalist Satsumi Matsuzaki sings in English or Japanese, sometimes in the same song, but her voice is more of a high frequency instrument flitting about the other stuff going on. The CD case contains six double-sided inserts, each of which can serve as the "cover." Today, I've got the green spider thingie with the little face in the middle. Fun disc.

Mitch Easter, Dynamico (Electric Devil) ***

First producer of R.E.M. (Chronic Town, Murmur, Reckoning), founder of Lets Active, session guitarist extraordinaire, and proprietor of the landmark Drive-In Studios, it's astonishing to think that some 25 years after Easter began haunting the mid-Atlantic music scene, he's finally come out with a solo album--discounting Lets Active's Big Plans for Everybody, largely a solo affair. Although noted for coaxing the inner Roger McGuinn out of R.E.M.'s Peter Buck and The Spongetones' Jamie Hoover, Easter's tone palette has always embraced an encyclopedic array of influences, recognizable if only for furious shape shifting in mid-song (e.g., Cypress's "Waters Part"). Dynamico is evidence that Easter's chops, his songcrafting ability, and even that wispy pre-pube voice haven't lost a step.

Paolo Nutini, These Streets (Atlantic) *

I picked this one up after seeing Nutini perform "New Shoes" on "The Tonight Show." "New Shoes" is on this disc. There are nine more songs which might have been written for exclusive performance on "American Idol."

The Be Good Tanyas, Blue Horse (Nettwerk) ***

The Be Good Tanyas are the other Canadian female vocal trio. Like the Wailin' Jennys, their emphasis is wheatfield bluegrass and traditional American songs. And like the Jennys and other acoustic bands (Equation, Nickel Creek), they're not afraid to add bass and drums when the song demands. Blue Horse is their 2001 debut, attractive for lovely original material ("The Littlest Birds," "Only in the Past," "Up Against the Wall") and artful covers ("Rain and Snow," "Oh, Susanna"--and a rollicking version of Geoff Berner's "Light Enough to Travel"). The vocals are assured and commanding, and while lacking the Jennys' seamless polish, have the ring of front porch authenticity.

The Kinks, Muswell Hillbillies (Koch) ***

Muswell Hillbillies leads off with "20th Century Man," a Dave Davies tour de force, alone for which the album is a must buy. Released in 1971 as a break between concept albums like Arthur and Lola Versus Powerman and the Money Go Round, Act 1 and later efforts like Preservation, Muswell Hillbillies is a return to the gritty American blues and British music hall influences which made The Kinks such an original band to begin with. In some ways it's more satisfying than Ray Davies's many attempts to out-Tommy Tommy.

The Good, The Bad & The Queen (Parlophone) ****

It's not clear if The Good, The Bad & The Queen is the name of the disc, the name of the band, or both. The all-star band is Blur bad boy Damon Albarn, wicked, prickly Clash bassist Paul Simenon, Verve guitarist Simon Tong, and Fela Kaluti's drummer, Tony Allen. In a sense, just like Gorillaz, The Good, The Bad & The Queen is a Damon Albarn collaboration project, but instead of hiding behind a cartoon, he returns to lifelong preoccupation with London, its moods and especially its weather--dour and bad, respectively. The disc was produced by Danger Mouse, in effect a fifth member of the band: one never lets DM into the control room just to twiddle knobs. The net effect is at once lush and spare. Danger Mouse leaves ample room around Albarn's vocals for the instrumentation to swirl, sometimes hypnotically and other times with incisive slashes. Brilliant disc.

The Raconteurs, Broken Boy Soldiers (V2) ****

So, this is what Jack White sounds like with a proper band. Shorn of The White Stripes' affectations and the heavy burden of being the self-anointed savior of rock'n'roll, White shares songwriting, vocals, and production principally with guitarist Brendan Benson. The result is often lyrical ("Steady As She Goes," "Hands," Yellow Sun") as raucous ("Level," "Store Bought Roses"). Often solo acts break out of bands with varying results. This is one time a virtual solo act (sorry, Meg) has broken into a band with a proper rhythm section (sorry, Meg) and outdone his previous work.

And You Will Know Us By The Trail of Dead, So Divided (Interscope) ***

Fueled by the teen wet dream visions of leader Conrad Keely, And You Will Know Us By the Trail of Dead lurches from a latter day version of anthemic prog rock to less anthemic pop songs to gutbucket rock'n'roll. So Divided reflects all of these tendencies with songs like "A Song of Fire and Wine," "Wasted State of Mind," and "Naked Sun"--which devolves into an anthem nonetheless--respectively. Keely also does most of the CD's excellent interior art and apparently the art on their web site (www.trailofdead.com). He's indeed multi-talented, but I'm still trying to figure out the relationship between nymphs with swords and a lyric like "Maybe someday I'll confess/A love once warm gone cold like all the rest/I've got you sunburnt now."

Augie March, Strange Bird (SpinArt) ***; Moo, You Bloody Choir (Sony) ***

This Australian quintet, with a tag borrowed from Saul Bellow, weaves densely populated songs within deceptively complex arrangements evincing influences from Tin Pan Alley and the Brill Building to Split Enz and The Kinks. Although the arrangements hint at the traditional verse-verse-chorus-verse-chorus structure, Glenn Richard's lyrics constantly move forward, rarely repeating an idea much less a verse or chorus, a tendency found with Dylan, Springsteen, and newbie Joanna Newsom. Strange Bird is for the most part sedate, a quietly beautiful affair, notably "The Vineyard" and "The Keeper." Moo, You Bloody Choir, despite the megahits "One Crowded Hour" and "Just Passing Through" is spotty and indecisive, as if the band decided to change direction then stopped to think about it.

Erratum. Niko Case's new disc, reviewed in No. 112, is Fox Confessor Brings the Flood. That's what I get for relying on a spell checker.

R.I.P. Iwao Takamoto, Mako, Molly Ivins, Gene Pitney, Ahmet Ertegun, Gian Carlo Menotti, Kurt Vonnegut, Don Ho, Johnny Hart, Mstislav Rostropovich, Zola Taylor, Tom Poston--oh, what that town without pity will Scooby Doo. Email: [e-mail].--KE