POP Black Keys
Thickfreakness Uncivil blues-based rock from a duo that is not the White Stripes. From Dan Auerbach and Patrick Carney, two sweet, fair-natured young men from Akron, Ohio, comes a brutish work, soulful and generously amplified, that suggests a summit of Black Sabbath and Junior Kimbrough. Not for the garden party. -- B. W.
Buck 65
Talkin' Honky Blues Rich Terfry's first disc for Warner goes down to the river for a linked series of meditations on the handmade and the heartsick. The album floats on a seven-part suite called Riverbed, and was launched by a stint in Paris and an intense fling with a story by Anais Nin called Houseboat. Terfry, a post-hip-hop original from Mount Uniacke, N.S., deals in first-person experiences of a second-hand world, where the most you can hope for is a thorough bruising. His characters shamble through his deftly furnished tunes like inmates in the prison yard, full of groundless certainties and rational superstitions. -- R. E.-G.
Vic Chesnutt
Silver Lake One of the world's most underappreciated genius songwriters, Georgia's Chesnutt makes a return to form with this collection of prize-worthy short stories, multisyllabic manifestos and answer songs to anybody who thinks that being a nihilistic drunk in a wheelchair has to mean losing your sense of humour -- see under Band Camp -- or of beauty, as the heart-rending closer In My Way, Yes proves a thousand times. -- C. W.
The Dandy Warhols
Welcome to the Monkey House Too clever by half is sometimes just enough. The Warhols prove themselves masters of smarty-pants pop on an album that has no weak songs and several dangerously compulsive ones. Everything here is deceptive except the pleasure, which is compounded by some sharp collaborations with producer Nick Rhodes (of the suddenly hip-again Duran Duran), guitarist Nile Rodgers (of the iconic disco band Chic) and David Bowie. The arrangements are smart and almost impossibly tasty. They're like electric ice cream, and you gobble them down like a glutton. -- R. E.-G.
Dizzee Rascal
Boy in da Corner Dizzee Rascal (Dylan Mills) copped Britain's Mercury Music Prize for this disc, compared to which most rap albums are like a limousine tour of a ghetto-fabulous mall. Dizzee's harshly plaintive verses and unstable grooves project a milieu (the London projects) that's continually fracturing and devouring itself with blind energy. His spattering vocal counterpoint, full of interbeats and off-camera voices, leaves his narratives with all the ragged ends exposed. -- R. E.-G.
Frog Eyes
The Golden River This record is as dense as the thickest brick of prog rock but utterly without egocentric soloing -- democratically, free-jazz-punk-folk style, it seems as if everyone is soloing at once, though what erupts is not chaos. The facts? It is the band's second album, organized around the songs of Carey Mercer, a mad-luscious, educated-primitive visionary. It comes from Victoria. It is all rock 'n' roll is meant to be, and not rock 'n' roll at all. It is my favourite record of the year. -- C. W.
Grandaddy
Sumday
Jason Lytle's music abounds in deluxe environments that stand for the Edens he can never find in a world infected by cash and convenience. His third Grandaddy album is a transparent cocoon, with all comfort inside and vistas of ugliness and disappointment beyond. These sad-eyed revelations and poetic downers cling to you like silk, even while you smile at Lytle's playtime narratives and sly wit. Lewis Carroll would find something to admire in The Group Who Couldn't Say, a fable about overachieving corporate types who burst from their sealed buildings and are struck dumb by the beauty of a world that has somehow escaped vacuum packaging. -- R. E.-G.
Jim Guthrie
Morning Noon Night/
Now, More Than Ever
Last year, Guelph, Ont.-bred, Toronto-based songwriter Guthrie minted and stamped Morning Noon Night just in time for it to get ignored in early-January fatigue. This year he's timed the follow-up, Now, More Than Ever, to be fresh in list-makers' minds after they hear how naughty and nice his tunes can be. By turns philosophical and slacker sweet, Guthrie is beginning to move from reedy neediness to Beatlesish sweeping and lush; but no matter how beautifully produced, the music never loses the eager spark of something somebody just thought up. -- C. W.
The Hidden Cameras
The Smell of Our Own
Like Jim Guthrie, the Hidden Cameras are part of the hydra-headed, Kali-armed storming of the international music scene that Toronto bands carried off in 2003. Even more than Royal City or Broken Social Scene, the Hidden Cameras is a massive collective composed of parts of other groups. But they're united by the song craft of Joel Gibb, who makes shimmering 1970s easy-listening folk-pop anthems about gay sex, animals, sweat, urine, the ocean and God. -- C. W.
King Geedorah
Take Me to Your Leader
Viktor Vaughn
Vaudeville Villain
While OutKast will deservedly get the props for keeping hip-hop more than a rote case of self-cannibalization this year, praise is also due to the almighty, a.k.a. MF Doom, the underground legend who came out from behind his iron mask of self-imposed exile to create two of the most delightful discs you could throw on a changer -- albeit behind two other masks. King Geedorah is his more comic-book, Godzilla-and-sci-fi mess of beats and whimsy; Vic Vaughn is a young-buck MC who freestyles his way through the master's plan. Two sides of a coin of the rap realm that may just prove to be priceless. -- C. W.
The New Pornographers
Electric Version For their second disc, Vancouver's New Pornographers break out all the recipes for organic pop, and load them up with additives that make everything taste better. Carl Newman's syllabic lyrics and chewy melodies guarantee swift addiction. The band's forward energy is unstoppable, thanks to airtight arrangements and a scheme in which almost everyone plays rhythm parts almost all the time. The whole album is like a dessert fantasy in 3-D, in which every surface glitters with something delicious. Taste it before some fool scientist discovers the harmful side effects. -- R. E.-G.
OutKast
The Love Below / Speakerboxxx They may be coming apart at the seams, but OutKast has never sounded better than they do in this each-to-his-own double-disc release. André (André 3000) plumbs unfathomable depths of homage and parody, flirting with big-band style and square white beats as he skips along the road to randy self-awareness. Antwan (Big Boi) Patton gives his more overtly political disc a radical ambiguity, where the 'hood is a state of mind and the only real option is "to be and not to be at the same time." -- R. E.-G.
Radiohead
Hail to the Thief
After the agonized experiments of the last two albums, Radiohead bursts for daylight with a disc that smells less of the lamp and more of a live situation. But daylight is no boon when the sun shines on ruin; chez Radiohead, our dreams are still waiting to devour us. The band's world looks more and more like that of Thomas Hardy, with better chords and less faith in homely heroism. But the cosmic disgust emanating from the band these many years has never overcome its idea of beauty, and these songs are gorgeous. -- R. E.-G.
Sam Roberts
We Were Born in a Flame
Sam Roberts's songs are full of blown chances and good things that went sour. But the music itself is a perpetual celebration, as if our ability to listen and dance together were proof that any mess can be endured with the right drinking buddies. Roberts's Montreal rock is all about solidarity, and his rugged songs feel true from the ground up. His anecdotal lyrics pull against the taut melodies and biting interbeats that show a subtle debt to R & B and even reggae. But the energy and the sensibility are all homegrown; there's a bit of this country in every track. -- R. E.-G.
The White Stripes
Elephant In this year of the blues, the White Stripes's Formica-topped way of assaulting the idiom seems too classic to be new, too fresh to be from any time but now. Jack and Meg White slash their way to a kind of transcendence that leaves blood on the strings, and a thorn in your heart. Just when blues-rock seemed deader than dead, these two find its next incarnation in the bull rushes, raising hell. The pop-related stuff is terrific too, including a suicidal take on Burt Bacharach and a sweetly sinister song about emotional captivity. -- R. E.-G.
Young and Sexy
Life Through One Speaker
Young and Sexy's second disc is full of tunes about being older and wiser, sung with the bitter conviction of those still on the near side of 30. The invasive tunes are full of worried self-assurance and pregnant pauses, and the arrangements look complexity in the face, and pronounce it good. The reverberant vocals, by Lucy Brain and chief songwriter Paul Hixon Pittman, suit the involved-but-distant stance of the material. It's perfect listening for a rainy afternoon in the band's hometown of Vancouver, or any time when wisdom looks to be a sneaky euphemism for disappointment. -- R. E.-G.
BLUES R. L. Burnside
First Recordings
Some 25 years ago, Mississippi bluesman Burnside sang My Time Ain't Long, a stomping, one-chorded reworking of Dust My Broom. He's still with us, and so is this harrowing collection of acoustic drone tunes, recorded in 1968 with no accompaniment except for the principle's own boot-to-floor rhythm. These are blues untouched by time and city influence, played by a man who considers his own fate with nothing but a shrug. -- B. W.
Guy Davis
Chocolate to the Bone
Folksy bluesman Davis grinds his hard voice through originals and rejigged covers with lyrics that lean to the harsh and naughty. Nothing here comes off as dark, though, the material is delivered in such grinning manner that any edge is smoothed over. Performing mostly with acoustic instruments, Davis and band do old-school, country-blues fresh and right, paying tribute to the McTells and Hookers as they go. -- B. W.
Otis Taylor
Tr uth Is Not Fiction
Another year, another heavy record from Otis Taylor. No lullabies, the songs here are more like thrill-a-minute amusement-park rides and ghost stories, all intense and emotionally exhausting. We hear nuclear banjos and brooding cellos with haunting background vocals and vigorous guitar work, both acoustic and electric. Buy the ticket and take the ride -- welcome to Taylor's nightmare. -- B. W.
WORLD
Javier Ruibal
Sahara It's not exactly flamenco. Yet this singer-songwriter from Cadiz, Spain, achieves duende, the restless passion that is flamenco's essence. Sahara is a powerful landscape, conjuring North African and Spanish anthems and ballads, driven by sweeping strings, Arabic percussion, jazzesque saxophones and Spanish guitar. Ruibal's sinewy, expressive voice is the perfect conduit for a whole world of romance, devastation, hope and magic. -- L. R.
Arnaldo Antunes, Marisa Monte, Carlinhos Brown
Tribalistas The combined musical weight of these Brazilian luminaries resulted in prerelease rumours of transcendent brilliance. Inevitably some critics sniffily dismissed the results as less than groundbreaking. But Tribalistas's very strength lies in its simplicity. So while Música Popular Brasileira diehards grumble, fans relish this MPB on the sweet and catchy side. Tribalistas's deeper beauty lives in the melding together and pulling apart of all three beautiful voices -- to both haunting and buoyant effect. -- L. R.
Jeszcze Raz
Balagane Juno Award-winners Jeszcze Raz centre around pianist Paul Kunigis, Polish-born resident of Montreal. His cabaret lures listeners by seeming infinitely familiar despite being previously unknown -- it's a great swirl of sounds painted with a klezmer-dipped brush. The thumbnail Kunigis CV explains: Jewish and Catholic parents, raised in Israel with Polish, Roma and Jewish music, French chanson and Middle Eastern hit parade. Add the love of blues and gospel, chased by an interest in Quebec culture. Got that? -- L. R.
Susheela Raman
Love Trap Raman is something of a Norah Jones, Tamil style. Love Trap defines intelligent accessibility, Raman's sensual voice soaring atop inventive instrumentation and personnel. (Clarinets, koras, Mongolian throat singers and famed Fela Kuti drummer Tony Allen, among other delights.) The title track is a slinky, anglicized version of an Ethiopian pop song that wouldn't be amiss in a James Bond flick. Its lyrics speak of "bewitching and beguiling," an apt summation of the entire disc. -- L. R.
JAZZ
Dave Holland Quintet
Extended Play That's "extended play" as in two CDs' worth of music from Birdland in New York, and also as in limits pushed -- theoretically, technically and rhythmically. If that sounds rather fearsome, rest assured it's not, save perhaps to other musicians trying to figure it all out. Bassist Dave Holland, saxophonist Chris Potter, trombonist Robin Eubanks, vibist Steve Nelson and drummer Billy Kilson make up quite the complete and compelling quintet, one that defines the aesthetic for modern jazz in 2003. -- M. M.
Steve Swallow
Damaged in Transit Here's more from Chris Potter in typical, strenuously expressive form as he, bass guitarist Steve Swallow and drummer Adam Nussbaum revisit the free-blowing trio format that Sonny Rollins established in the late 1950s. For musically literate listeners, the lead sheets for Swallow's unassumingly melodic tunes are published in the CD booklet; as for Potter's extraordinary solos, well, you just have to know that they're beyond transcribing. -- M. M.
D. D. Jackson
Suite for New York Never mind the obvious premise, with its sentimental 9/11 subtext. The Canadian pianist and composer D. D. Jackson employs uncharacteristic restraint -- uncharacteristic by his own capital-R romantic tendencies at the keyboard -- as he draws strains of avant-garde and Latin, jazz, chamber music and funk into an evocative homage to the city that he has called home since 1989. His Can-Am cast of musicians is splendid in support. -- M. M.
Ravi Coltrane
Mad 6 Coltrane, son of John, filters his father's legacy (and that of dad's peers, Charles Mingus and Thelonious Monk) through his own more recent experiences as part of New York's rhythmically charged M-BASE crowd. The result is a smart, stylish hybrid that finds him looking back and ahead at one and the same time. Like father, like son. -- M. M. CLASSICAL
Sergei Istomin
Virtuoso Solos for Viola da Gamba
These works for lone viola da gamba tap into a similar psychological space as Bach's Suites for Solo Cello. The music is less complex, it's true, but Istomin's immaculate timing and plangent tone show it in all its elegance, poise and pathos. Harmonies unroll with exquisite logic, and several movements, one of which mimics vocal recitative, speak as expressively as if the texts were there to be read. Especially memorable are two delicately abstract preludes from late 17th-century suites by Johannes Schenk. -- E. P.
Pierre-Laurent Aimard, piano
with the Chamber Orchestra of Europe
Beethoven: Piano Concertos
Some years ago, I made a survey of all the period-instrument recordings of the Beethoven symphonies then available, including Nikolaus Harnoncourt's recordings with the Chamber Orchestra of Europe. To my surprise, I found Harnoncourt's modern-instrument performances the most rewarding. Here's Harnoncourt again, in collaboration with pianist Pierre-Laurent Aimard, with the Beethoven piano concerti, and although they aren't quite as satisfying as the symphonies, they are fascinating. The balance between piano and orchestra, meant to recapture the balance of period instruments, will shock some listeners, as will the slightly muddy sound, but the interpretations deliver one epiphany after another. -- E. P.
Tragicomedia and Concerto Palatino
Claudio Monteverdi: Vespro della beata vergine (1610)
The one-to-a-part revolution continues to put the standard chorus out of work in the early-music world in this performance of Monteverdi's Vespers of 1610. A choir of light-voiced soloists give Monteverdi's extraordinary score a madrigalian intimacy and sensuality, supply phrased by the singers and supported by a virtuoso instrumental ensemble. Directed by Stephen Stubbs, this is a truly memorable interpretation of Monteverdi's early Baroque masterpiece. -- E. P.
Schoenberg Quartet
Berg: Complete Chamber Music The music of the Second Viennese School rarely sounds as lyrical as it should, which is why this disc of the complete chamber music of Alban Berg is such a joy. The Schoenberg Quartet speaks Berg's often thorny musical language as if it were its mother tongue. With their interpretations of the String Quartet and Lyric Suite, we're struck by how much affection they both convey and inspire for these pieces. That's also the case for the other gem on this recording, an eccentric yet wonderful arrangement for piano, harmonium, violin and cello that Berg made of his last song from the Altenberg Lieder. -- E. P.
Smithsonian Chamber Players
Mahler Symphony No. 4 / Songs of a Wayfarer
This superb realization of chamber-music arrangements by Schoenberg and Erwin Stein prove that Mahler's symphonic worlds can be adequately explored even in miniature. The performances, recorded last summer at Quebec's Domaine Forget festival, lack for almost nothing in range of colour and intensity, though you sometimes miss the punch of the big brass. Soprano Christine Brandes (in the symphony) and Canadian mezzo-soprano Susan Platts (in the incandescent songs) shine like rare gems in settings of old gold. -- R. E.-G.
Brad Wheeler