Latest CD releases reviewed
PLACEBO
Once More With Feeling - Singles 1996-2004 Virgin
**
Neatly providing a wormhole between American grunge and Britpop, Placebo mopped up the stragglers from both genres, building up enough of a fanbase to help them outlast many of their peers on both sides of the Atlantic. Brian Molko's glam, androgynous image contrasted with his abrasive, nasal drone, only becoming reconciled on the band's biggest hit, Nancy Boy. Great songs were never Placebo's strong point; the quality of the songwriting veered from sixth form goth to sleazy indie rock, and Molko's lyrics trod a muddy line between pretentious and trite. This collection of their singles gathers up the good, the bad and the dodgy, and, while Teenage Angst, Pure Morning and Every You Every Me have a certain dark appeal, they're not worth wading through the grunge-pop detritus to reach. www.placeboworld.co.uk
Kevin Courtney
LEONARD COHEN
Dear Heather Colombia/Sony
***
Dear Heather might not be as confessional as its title suggests, but with Leonard Cohen - the former Zen Buddhist monk who came down from the LA mount several years ago to recapture his status as a ladies' man for all seasons - singing about anything is telling. First things first: this isn't as good as Cohen's brilliant 2001 comeback album, Ten New Songs; Dear Heather is more diffuse, less charming and quite possibly the work of a man who has led a more skittish life over the past three years than he did in the previous 10. Cohen being Cohen, however, is more of a bonus than not, and it's through songs such as Because Of, The Letters and the title track that one realises how much he understands the ebb and flow of the human condition. Sometimes unnecessarily throwaway, sometimes so close to the bone it's grinding, Dear Heather is Cohen marking time ever so diligently. With indelible ink. www.leonardcohen.com
Tony Clayton-Lea
PAUL WESTERBERG
Folker Vagrant
***
Before The White Stripes got their first toy guitar and drum set, the former singer with The Replacements was crafting run-down roots-rock tunes with little more than a guitar, a 4-track and a six-pack. He's never come in from the cold - Folker is free of polish and production values, but full to the brim with passion and personality and even a few good tunes. The opening Beatles pastiche, Jingle (Buy It), dashes any hopes that Westerberg will ever feature on American Top 10, but such raspy, fractured rockers as When Will We Arrive?, Looking Up in Heaven, $100 Groom and As Far As I Know manage to shine through the punch-drunk delivery. My Dad is a tough-but-tender eulogy to Westerberg's crusty oul' fella, while Gun Shy looks down the barrel of Westerberg's rock past with a steely eye. One of the last real rock 'n' roll outlaws. www.vagrant.com
Kevin Courtney
DAVID KITT
The Black and Red Notebook Dublin Discs
****
His big romance with the majors now over, it's back to square one for the recently indie'd David Kitt. One might have worried that this quick release of cover versions would show Kittser on the rebound, clinging to a safe option. But dusting down the treasures of his (largely 1980s) musical upbringing, Kitt's fourth album might be his most personal yet. His selections range from the reassuringly obscure (J.J. Cale's Magnolia), the instantly familiar (Thin Lizzy's Dancing in the Moonlight) and the deeply ambitious (The Beatles, REM). Some don't work. Some soar. But, under spry acoustic guitar and delicate electronica, each is caressed and subtly transformed. Nestled comfortably into this charming return to form is one new song, gentle and lovely, proving Kitt has explored the work of others and found himself. www.davidkitt.com
Peter Crawley
VARIOUS ARTISTS
Bring Your Own Poison: The Rhythm Factory Sessions Snapper Records
**
The Libertines' mission is, apparently, to save rock 'n' roll, although only upon encountering their garage-Britpop gumbo does the bleakness of its predicament becomes properly visible. The Londoners' celebrity is only vaguely rooted in their music, of course, with drugs, feuds and jail sentences being the chief constituents of the Libertines' myth. On the evidence of this ragbag live chronicling of the group and half a dozen kindred outfits (The Lams, Art Brut and Tigermoth among them) at London's Rhythm Factory, it is a myth whose debunking is long overdue. There's nothing especially awful about the muddle of skinny riffs and guttural melodies here, but if the world really required a knock-about New Wave revival it would have bought the second Strokes album. Estranged former Libertine Pete Doherty closes the set with an almost poignant solo track. If he has any sense he'll keep running. www.rhyrhmfactory.co.uk
Ed Power
