Ratatat - Classics

XL Recordings: 2006

The best part about taking on a friend’s music collection is how it forces you out of comfort zones. Yeah, there’ll be some overlap in taste – why would you be friends if there wasn’t some common bond in the soundtracks of our lives – but there can be remarkable differences too. I doubt folks I know have as much affinity for Neil Young as I do, to say nothing of this newfound interest in dark ambient I’m currently exploring. Likewise, my interest in indie music is passive to the extreme, with only a few items making their way to my shelves. But son, I’m getting learned on this stuff these months, exposed to names both familiar and super new to my eyes. Speaking of Ratatat…!

First, I must admit I wasn’t entirely sure what sort of music Ratatat made. I had a very good guess of course, but something about this cover had me thinking this might be trap. I mean, the roaring feline in a stark shade contrast isn’t out of place in trap logos and hype material. Plus a name that likens to the rapid-fire sounds of hi-hats and snares that trap’s made its namesake? Well damn, how are you not convinced then? How about the fact this is on CD, within a clear jewel case no less. I don’t think a single trap artist has released their music in such a manner. Hell, hardly anyone does jewel cases anymore – t’is all about that digipak action, yo’.

Ratatat are in fact a duo consisting of Evan Mast and Mike Stroud, and are also a much bigger deal than I anticipated. Right, clearly not so big that I’d heard of them before, but they’ve been going strong for over a decade now, five albums deep with last year’s offering of Magnifique. And yes, they are an indie leaning act with the guitars and such, but also injecting ample amounts of electro to their productions. This has led them to comparisons between Daft Punk, Hot Chip and LCD Soundsystem, somewhat blended with Radiohead, MGMT, and M83. Hoo, now is that ever one hip dump of a namedropping!

And that’s essentially what we get with Classics, their cheekily titled second LP. There’s a lot of cool guitar tones and strumming throughout, with equal amounts of tweakin’ synths and raw drum programming backing them up. Some of this sounds quite fun, especially so in the super-catchy funky licks of Wildcat, though I’m getting some serious Get Lucky feels from it, sans the vocals. And honestly, the lack of singing on everything left a number of these tracks kinda’ empty, like they needed some scratchy screaming-warbler overtop to elevate a few to higher heights. As they are, a number of cuts come off unfinished and under produced, rough for the sake of authenticity.

But whatever, Classics is apparently their most popular album, including getting the vinyl reissue treatment recently. Huh, how did I miss these guys again? Oh yeah, that ‘comfort zone’ thing.

Beastie Boys - Check Your Head

Capitol Records: 1992

Either the most important Beastie Boys album, or the most forgotten Beastie Boys album, depending on who you ask. Most folks fall into the latter category, and for good reason: Check Your Head generally lacks a variety of things that made their other LPs so memorable. There’s none of the instantly recognizable hits like Fight For Your Right from Licensed To Ill, Sabotage from Ill Communication, or Intergalactic from Hello Nasty. So What’cha Want was the only single that charted, and barely so at that. Hell, for the longest time, I didn’t even realize the track was from this album. For some reason I mistook it for a Paul’s Boutique or Ill Communication cut despite hard evidence to the contrary. Maybe the title’s just been so oft repeated and sampled, I never clued in it was an actual song itself.

Even the scant ’00 albums get more talking points than Check Your Head. Though folks were divided on the merits of To The 5 Boroughs’ throw-back hip-hop, the Beasties were at least praised for sticking to the concept in face of so many changes within their scene. And Hot Sauce Committee… well, that was gonna’ get talked about no matter what. For all intents, the history most know of the Beastie Boys goes like: “GROUNDBREAKING ‘80s! Something with live instruments. The SABOTAGE video! Moar awesome videos from Hello Nasty, with robots and ninjas! Content old geezers doing raps whenever between Buddhism. Aww, man, MCA died? That sucks.” Poor Check Your Head, barely a name check.

Still, this was the first album the Beasties produced themselves, which is note worthy for sure, but doesn’t illicit the same reverent discussion that Rick Rubin on Licensed To Ill or The Dust Brothers on Paul’s Boutique do. Nonetheless, Ad-Rock, MCA, and Mike D returned to playing their own instruments rather than pilfer coffers of records for samples. A good thing too when they did, legalities involving cribbing other people’s music turning incredibly costly in the courts. Time to start making your own beats and riffs, drawing influence of the multitude of funk, punk, jazz-unk, and turntable trickery they grew up around. They must have had these tunes building in their head for some time too, the music tight and fluid throughout. Shame they neglected including the rappity-raps half the time.

That’s the angle most approach Check Your Head from when claiming this their most important album. It marks an evolution of the Beasties from a three-piece white boy posse with witty, hilarious immature lyrics into Serious Musicians. They aren’t so concerned with wordplay as they are with musical interplay, and had yet to really branch out into experimentation as they would in Ill Communication. They still find time for a few back-n-forth cuts (Jimmy James, Pass The Mic, Finger Lickin’ Good, So What’cha Want, Professor Booty), but they’re outliers to all the funk jams throughout Check Your Head. It’s like the boys were all growed up now. Peace out in dub with Namaste.

Synkro - Changes

Apollo: 2015

Synkro’s a name I’ve had my eye on for a few years, initially for obvious stupid reasons. Seriously, take out that ‘r’, add in double ‘e’s, rearrange a couple letters, and oh my, aren’t you looking mighty familiar. Not that it’s anything but a huge coincidence, but the alias one Joe McBride chose for himself couldn’t help but draw my attention in such a manner. Once I got past that though, I noticed his name cropping up around the Autonomic guys, soon after associating with ASC and Auxillary. Hey, that’s cool, but still, isn’t he a dubstep guy? A brief poke through his Lord Discogs dossier confirms as much, his early material finding homes on labels like Smokin’ Sessions, Dubbed Out, Box Clever, and Dubstep For Deep Heads. Right, so these labels are of the ‘intelligent’ side of the genre, all that post-future garagestep stuff that’s actually not so bad. Not my thing such that I’d want to dig into his releases any time soon though, but maybe at some point I’d check back, should a tantalizing development reveal itself in the near present. Also, a proper album wouldn’t hurt either, none of these endless EPs, yo’.

Well hey, here’s a tantalizing development I never saw coming: Synkro’s found a home on Apollo. Yep, the label that got its start as an outlet for the first selection of ambient works from Aphex Twin, and went on as a pioneer, leader, and all-around swell ‘90s label for all things ambient techno and experimental chill. They also dabbled in other trendy genres of the time (trip-hop, atmospheric jungle), and it seems this decade is no different, getting in on some of that neo-folk action. Oh, and future garage too. And after a few more singles for the famed Belgium print, Synkro finally tackled the LP format this past year with Changes.

For a debut album on Mr. McBride’s part though, this is about as safe an effort as I’ve ever heard. He made a name for himself clearly inspired by the Burial template, and much of Changes’ first half deals with the sound. There’s the distant echoes of garage soul past, haunting melodies of melancholic memories (though the looping vocal in Holding On is rather corny), and sparse shuffly grooves dubbed out to the recesses of urban alleyways. It’s all sounds lovely, and Synkro crafts some remarkably expansive spaces with his strings and pads. Don’t feel bad if you’ve a serious sense of ‘been there, heard it’ with these tunes though. It’s like listening to trip-hop in the year 2003: yeah, it still sounds good, but nothing new’s being added.

The back-half of Changes is a bit more interesting, with two gorgeous ambient pieces in Empty Walls and closer Harbour, a slowed-down jazzsteppy cut in Body Close, and a dead-ringer of a Boards Of Canada ode in Midnight Sun. Hey, wait a minute, when did this album suddenly turn into a Psychonavigation Records release? Everywhere, they are I swear.

Claude Young - Celestial Bodies

Fountain Music: 2013

Most times when dealing with a DJ or producer for the first time, the additional information Lord Discogs provides doesn’t tempt me into much further digging. So I was figuring the case for Claude Young when initially tackling his DJ-Kicks CD. T’was cool and all learning about his history, his legacy, and who he’s worked with in the past, but he’s been all over the map with his releases too. And I mean that literally, his records scattered on labels from across the globe, and undoubtedly super obscure or wallet-scorching expensive to procure. Fair enough, thought I, figuring Mr. Young would be yet another class Detroit techno guy that I’d have to sacrifice my attention in favor of several other worthy acts. It’s just the nature of Detroit techno consumption, tons of mint material only cultivated and heralded by the truly hardcore connoisseur of the genre. They wouldn’t have it any other way.

And yet, what’s this in Claude’s albums cache? A recent album released on Fountain Music in Japan called Celestial Bodies. Ooh, pretty blue nebula on the cover. Kinda’ reminds me of Model 500’s Deep Space. Quite a few astronomical titles in the track list too. The sample track, Hawking Radiation has a bumpin’ groove going for it. Is this a ‘Detroit techno guy making funky space music’ then? Mang, this just might be the Model 500 album we were all hoping for last year, but didn’t get in lieu of the retro-leaning Digital Solutions instead. Oh man, screw the Pacific import fees, time to get on this one before all the CD copies are snatched up!

That Celestial Bodies is not, in fact, a ‘Detroit techno guy making funky space music’ may come as a shock then. Mr. Young doesn’t produce much at all anymore, and when he does, his muse seems more drawn to ambient techno’s more experimental pastures. Not such a bad thing either, but man, was I not counting on a nearly full-on space ambient excursion with Celestial Bodies. Has Claude been hanging around planetariums?

There isn’t a whiff of a techno beat until the sixth track, and Domain Wall doesn’t even hit the two-minute mark. Prior to that there’s soft, harmonic tones of Exodus Earth, space drone of Observing The Kuiper Belt (Namlook legacy in the house, yo’), looping sonic doodle of Delta Cephei, spritely melodic pulses of Signals From Amor, and string pads accompanying punches of dub in Nysa. Only Observing and Signals reach any significant length, though even when the tracks get extra meat on their bones in the second half, we’re still mostly dealing with excursions into ambient. Sedna 90377 has some Detroit shuffle going for it, but is more about Claude’s old-school synth jams. Meanwhile, Cyrosleep Dreams is a lovely lullaby for our ventures to the cosmos, while Messier 86 (NGC 4406) is all ominous and creepy. Damn right it should be, the blue-shifted Virgo Cluster resident heading right for us! Projections for collision in a quadrillion years.

Bob Dylan - Bringing It All Back Home

Columbia: 1965/2003

A much better introduction to Bob Dylan long-players. Hell, it just might be among his most iconic albums for a number of reasons. For one, there’s the big hullabaloo over his ventures into the realms of electric music. Hey, that means Bringing It All Back Home is actually relevant to this blog! Nah, not really, the ‘going electric’ part merely his embrace of rock music after an early career as a traditional acoustic folkie. This was seen as a Very Big Deal though, like a betrayal of sorts; musicians just didn’t cross genre and scene boundaries, yo’. You started as an acoustic folk singer, you stayed in your lane. You started as a country crooner, damn straight you weren’t offering those pipes to Motown soul. A rock band was a rock band, though maybe you might get in on that blues action too.

Point being Bobby Dylian proved one wasn’t so chained to their genre as record labels so often claimed. The Beatles could make more than simple ‘love me do’ jangles. Brian Wilson could pen tunes about things other than surfing. And most importantly, you could even meld genres together! Rock music was traditionally lyrically simple stuff, catchy little numbers intended for dancefloors and malt shops, with no time for anecdotes and storytelling. Dylan said nuts to that, retaining his wordsmith abilities without sacrificing the energetic rockabilly jaunts.

And while Subterranean Homesick Blues, Maggie’s Farm, Outlaw Blues, On The Road Again, and Bob Dylan’s 115th Dream enthusiastically rock with the best of that era’s tunes, Mr. Zimmerman doesn’t just dwell on a single genre either. There’s a touch of the country in She Belongs To Me and Love Minus Zero, plus a flurry of folk songs to finish the album out. These include some of his most endearing pieces like Mr. Tambourine Man, famously covered by The Byrds that same year, and maybe-sorta’ about LSD (and if so, a much better allegory than the ham-fisted weed puns of Rainy Day Women #12 & 35). Somber Gates Of Eden is also here, foretelling the inevitable hippie burnout of the ‘70s before there was even much of a hippie movement to begin with. And if you ever need a more perfect example of Dylan’s seemingly stream-of-conscious lyricism, have a gander at It’s Alright, Ma (I’m Only Bleeding).

I bitched some about Dylan’s singing on Blonde On Blonde, but he sounds perfectly fine here. It’s like the brisk rock tempos prevent him from oohver enuunsiating. 115th Dream hilariously starts with an aborted recording session, lending the whole album a playful vibe, and that ol’ Bob isn't always so serious about himself. Finally, Subterranean Homesick Blues is probably most famous for offering the closest thing to the first music video. True, the scene of Dylan holding up cue cards in an alleyway as the song plays was taken from a tour documentary, but it’s been so smoothly extracted from the film, it may as well be a music video made for MTV. Dudes!

Bob Dylan - Blonde On Blonde

Columbia: 1966/2004

The only Bob Dylan album you’re supposed to have, even if you’re not a Bob Dylan fan. That said, do not let this be your introduction to the guy’s work. Mind, I honestly don’t know how one’s supposed to properly take in Mr. Zimmerman’s work. Every Dylan disciple will claim all his ‘60s material is essential, while the ‘70s is good, except when it’s actually very bad, but he was being intentionally bad so it’s actually good. Not that ‘80s stuff though, that was just bad-bad. Dammit though, we only have time to listen to a couple albums in our super busy lives. What’s the absolute best-best album we’re supposed to have? Blonde On Blonde apparently, but that comes with a huge caveat as far as I’m concerned.

I’m by no means a Dylan expert – the fact I’m reviewing this album is by happenstance of a former owner’s contribution to my CD hoarding. I know the history though, the legacy, the influence he’s had on some of my favorite artists. I’ve heard the iconic songs and the loving tributes. But diving into all his music? Sorry, Neil Young’s filled my need for folkie-rocker protester musician. So take these thoughts with grainy sodium, because Blonde On Blonde strikes me as the sort of album one can only fully appreciate as someone thoroughly versed in Dylan’s discography, idiosyncrasies and all.

Many call this his opus, but I’m not hearing much more here that can’t be found on his other ‘electric’ records of the era. There’s definitely a lot more of it though, which is great if you can’t get enough of that clever lyricism and metaphorical storytelling his reputation’s made on. And boy, choosing those famous, unheralded Nashville session musicians when his New York recordings weren’t up to snuff was a brilliant move, the backing tracks fun and exuberant throughout. I just wish I could hear them better in the final mix.

Right, folks come to a Bob Dylan album to hear Bob Dylan doing Bob Dylan th’angs, but damn if his cadence doesn’t grate after a while. Yes, I know this iis just the waaay he sings some-times, which is fine in small doses. For the double-LP length of Blonde On Blonde though, I completely tune out in the back half, especially so for the eleven-minute closer Sad Eyed Lady Of The Lowlands. There are some lovely words being sung, just not in the way they’re being sung, plus he recycles so many melodies from the first half, it’s like the album’s spinning wheels. And why on Earth is that harmonica so damn high and shrill, drowning out the awesome session musicians? It isn’t even all that good a’ blowin’.

By the end of it, Blonde On Blonde comes off like an endurance test for what you can get out of Dylan. If you’re totally down with ol’ Bob, every moment is mana. Methinks one need a little bracer of his other material before coming into this one though.

The Velvet Underground - The Best Of The Velvet Underground (Words And Music Of Lou Reed)

Verve Records: 1989

Nearly everything you may adore or abhor about the alternative and indie side of rock music can be traced to this band. Making music that bucks the prevailing trends? Velvet Underground. Cultivating an impossibly hip image? Velvet Underground. An essential name-dropped when discussing one’s influences? Velvet Underground. Pretentious rock band fan-cult origins, that’s existed ever since rock music’s existed? I dunno, maybe Grateful Dead, but hoo boy, does Velvet Underground ever have their doozies too. Tab Lou Reed’s original band as anything less than “revolutionary”, and you’ll be met with scorn only seen in Tool’s ranks, with essays and essays of just how wrong your opinion is. Not that you’d understand them of course, the VU simply much too forward-thinking for mere Beatles or Stooges fans to comprehend, even a half-decade now since debuting with that kinda’-sorta’-maybe mediocre singing model Nico. But that was the Point, see, that underneath her natural beauty was a flawed, beautiful artistic creature, and Andy Warhol was a genius for forcing her upon Lou Reed to expose these blemishes within…

Wow, see what I mean?

The thing is, compared to other seminal bands of the ‘60s, Velvet Underground don’t even have that large a fanbase. Their albums barely charted (even when they did), and it took Lou Reed’s 2013 death to give their debut with Nico a respectable bump up their all-time standing (though the 2003 Deluxe version did pretty good in the UK). Even this particular Best Of collection, released in 1989, when the indie scene was on the rise and even sporting a little cross-over action, failed to chart. Yeah, but this is still the indie scene we’re dealing with, consisting of a passionate but disproportionate fanbase compared to the radio consuming plebs of the world.

And the VU indoctrinated wouldn’t have it any other way. This band became the sleeper sensation they did because of how far under the radar they initially flew. They hailed from New York City, when all the action in the rock world was happening in California and the UK. They made noisy dirges for a burnout generation years before the comedown had begun in earnest. Their music took recognizable signifiers of blues rock, psychedelia, and folk, but never fully embraced them to be pigeon-holed into those scenes. At a time when studio albums with the latest in production trickery were becoming the norm, these guys were rough and hideously unpolished, almost sounding like a literal garage band with decent talent but no budget. Others were making allegories to acid and marijuana, Reed bluntly sung about heroin. Yeah, small wonder so many point to Velvet Underground as a proto-punk band, a group proving you could make a name for yourself despite little being in your favor.

So yes, listening to The Best Of Velvet Underground, I do get why they’ve earned the legend, the mythos, and the storied inspiration for so many others. Just, y’know, don’t be a twat when going on about them, ‘kay?

Alphaxone - Altered Dimensions

Cryo Chamber: 2015

Cryo Chamber was initially just an outlet for Simon Heath’s own material, mostly re-issuing his Atrium Carceri back-catalog alongside his newer project Sabled Sun. Not sure whether he had intention of expanding it beyond that, but surely he knew a few like-minded brooding souls in the dark ambient scene that would fit his idea of ‘cinematic drone’. He was smart about it though, resisting releasing a glut of digital material in hopes of a few stickers. As Cryo Chamber offered CD options as well, the label would have to be a bit pickier in whom they dealt with. This has led to a comparatively smaller roster of producers on the print, but one where each is distinct from the other, where they can build a unique discography under the Cyro Chamber banner. Considering the label’s catalog has quadrupled in the past two years, I’d say they’re onto something good here.

Of course I would be saying that considering I splurged on them when they had a CD blowout over the winter months. Also consider: I knew squat about anyone else on the roster, leaping into all these dark ambient producers completely cold. Hell, I had yet to even sample Mr. Heath’s Atrium Carceri material. To so thoroughly dive into a label promoting music I’ve seldom crossed paths with in the past is one heck of a faithful leap, but one that’s paid off, nothing on Cryo Chamber disappointing yet.

Okay, I’ve spent half this review explaining why y’all be seeing a lot of this label’s material in the coming months. I already went through Alphaxone’s history in the Absence Of Motion review, and there sure isn’t much else I can add to that here. Altered Dimensions, meanwhile, is the second album the Iranian producer released on this print. That’s right, folks, it’s a reverse chronicling of Alphaxone’s output! We’re, like, time-travelers, yo’, inching ever so slowly towards Prime Alphaxone, in the long ago of 2012-ish.

As such, Altered Dimensions takes us to the more abstract explorations of Mr. Saleh’s muse, this one coming off like a journey into the geometric labyrinth-scape at the end of Hellraiser 2. None of that body-horror stuff with grotesque Cenobites lurking about, oh no. We’re in a realm where things are askew from our normal reality, familiar in construct but alien in design. There’s even something of a grounding starting point, opener Distances offering a minimalist rhythm complementing the waves of dark synth pads washing over you - reminds me of something off of a recent Ultimae Records collection.

This is definitely a ‘journey’ sort of album, letting you take in the scenery as you envision with Alphaxone’s atmospherics guiding you along. It’s never so creepy you wish to flee, abstract sounds tugging at your sense of curiosity as you exploring the unknown. It can leave you feeling isolated and vulnerable (holy cow, does Aftermath ever so), yet stronger of spirit for the journey taken. Just don’t leave the puzzle box lying about after.

Various - Almost Famous

DreamWorks Records: 2000

I didn’t care much for the movie Almost Famous. Shock, I know. How could a supposed amateur music critic like I not admire, adore, and even empathize with the story of a young rock journalist’s journey of self-discovery while on a road-trip assignment? Eh, I just don’t, not in the slightest. Though I cannot deny some allure in getting all those sweet backstage passes and being paid to hear live music, I’ve never had any aspirations for music journalism as a career. The whole profession reeks of brown-nosing hustle just to get by, to say nothing of how internet reporting has all but diminished any potential scribe’s worth to publishers. I write these little blurbs about CDs I own not for fame or fortune, but for… hmm, come to think of it, why am I even doing this? Isn’t insanity defined by doing repetitive things for no discernable benefit? Perhaps so, but this niggling OCD’s gotta’ sort itself somehow.

Anyhow, it doesn’t matter what my music blogging aspirations are, for it’s not like Almost Famous has anything to do with that. It’s an inciting incident to get director Cameron Crowe’s autobiographical stand-in, fifteen year old William Miller, on the road with Allman Brothers Band stand-in, Stillwater. The teenager bears witness to things happening during the early ‘70s rock star livin’, like singing, partying, bickering, sexing groupies in denial, and maybe a little clairvoyance along the way. Right, an impending plane crash does help to clear the air with everyone involved, but by the end of the movie, it seems no one’s really learned much from this whole tour. The band, on the verge of stardom, don’t seem destined for much beyond their ‘almost famous’ status regardless. Aside from Kate Hudson (because Character Arc), the groupies still cling to the band with the blinkered optimism being around potentially famous rock stars affords them. And lil’ William learns that, though the rock star lifestyle ain’t all what it’s cracked up to be, it’s still a vital, healing part of so many folks’ souls to outright dismiss it as horrible ‘Satan music’. Wait, maybe I’m thinking the movie Groove here.

Almost Famous is ultimately a movie with super-thick nostalgia shades for a specific era of rock music. It touches on a few of the less-favorable aspects, but not to such a degree that it’ll have Boomers questioning their love for that time. Appropriately, the music on the soundtrack features all the folky and rocker sorts that defined the ‘70s college radio waves. The Who, Simon & Garfunkel, Rod Stewart, Lynyrd Skynyrd, Led Zep’, Cat Stevens all make appearances, with surprising turns from Yes, Beach Boys, Elton John, and David Bowie. It’s a good collection of songs, mostly eschewing obvious hits for tunes that fit the sort of tone Crowe was filming: laidback and carefree as the wind blows, trying to ignore that nagging uncertainty of what all this means in the end, of what the future holds. Punk, mang, the answer is punk.

Sarah McLachlan - Afterglow

Nettwerk: 2003

Sarah McLachlan first came within range of my earholes way back, her oldie single Into The Fire on constant rotation over Vancouver’s radio waves. And why not, an undeniably catchy song that fed off the success of similar lady singer-songwriters of the era (Tori Amos, Sinéad O'Connor). Plus, what youthful teenage boy couldn’t help but be, erm, ‘intrigued’ by that video of Ms. McLachlan lounging about naked, covered in mud? And while I’m almost certain I heard Possession at some point too (aka: that “I’ll take your breath away” song), I didn’t give her much thought after Into The Fire, music bias against anything un-electronic dictating such youthful folly. Thus I must admit to embarrassing shock at not only learning she was still around when her ultra-mega successful Surfacing dropped, but was on the verge of becoming an industry juggernaut for female musicians. Grammys! Lilith Fair! Trance remixes! Well I’ll be darned.

After such unprecedented career fortune, Ms. McLachlan did what any humble gal from Nova Scotia would do: retreat from the spotlight for a while for some quality me-time. This wasn’t her first time doing so, ol’ Sarah taking a six-month sabbatical prior to working on Surfacing. After all the touring and fame that album wrought, damn straight she’d need another bought of recharging. This one lasted much longer though, in part due to a period of mourning after the loss of her mother, but also prepping for motherhood of her own. With all these factors in play, anticipation was high for this album. Could she meet and even surpass her song writing abilities so often exceeded throughout the ‘90s? Would she have new topics to write about, new perspectives on the way life had gone for her in the half-decade since international stardom? Might she incorporate any new production tricks, perhaps go more electronic in lieu of the popularity of all those remixes? The answer to all this is an irresistible “nah, guy.”

Afterglow is quite the apt title, the music here mostly calm and light. It all goes down easy, the sort of songs you’d hear on your adult contemporary station during the grind of work. Sarah doesn’t offer much in the way of fresh insights or innovative song craft, mostly relaying the sort of platitudes you’d expect of someone mostly content in their life. Tracks like Fallen, Stupid, and Train Wreck touch on feelings of loss, whereas Perfect Girl and Push offer messages with some hopeful outlooks. World On Fire hints at the troubles ailing a post-9/11 world, but that’s about as far outside Sarah’s comfort zone of relationship reflections we venture. Lyrically, all the songs on Afterglow are well-written and Sarah’s voice sounds as haunting as ever, but after such a long gap between albums, it’s no surprise folks came away from this tidy ten-tracker underwhelmed. Could it be Ms. McLachlan’s time in the sun had finally set?

I must “nah, guy” again, a surprising new career as an impossibly sad ASPCA spokeswoman beckoning.