Gordon Lightfoot Book, Music and More!

The latest contender in the Canadian pop tart sweepstakes hails from sleepy Bolton, Ont. Unlike Napanee’s Avril Lavigne and Scarborough’s Fefe Dobson, 16-year-old Sweetnam didn’t hang out in shopping malls. But she still manages to have much in common with Lavigne and Dobson—namely boys, boarding (Sweetnam on snow, Lavigne on streets) and faux rebellion. Sweetnam even tackles the inevitable “Avril lite” comparisons on the frenetic “Hypocrite,” in which she declares “I will do what I want to.” So there.

Since disbanding Dire Straits in 1995, Knopfler has been a prolific creator of fine solo albums and film soundtracks. His latest solo effort is another well-crafted affair, full of memorable songs in styles ranging from country (the tender post-breakup ballad “Whoop de Doo”) and skiffle (the playful Lonnie Donegan tribute “Donegan’s Gone”) to Andean folk (the wistful travelogue “Postcards from Paraguay”). But the best is “Song for Sonny Liston,” a stunning blues portrait of the prize fighter with “dynamite in both his hands.”

Anyone thinking Stone’s debut hit album was a fluke need only check out the British teenager’s followup. Where her first was a collection of retro r&b covers, Stone’s sophomore album features 14 soul numbers—12 of which she wrote or co-wrote—that are both convincing and utterly contemporary. “I’ve got to sing my own song,” she declares on the emotive ballad “Right to Be Wrong.” By the time she’s sung the epic soul and gospel-tinged workout “Killing Time,” she’s proven beyond a doubt that she should. 

Like most DJs and remixers, Fatboy Slim (a.k.a. Norman Cook) is a record geek (his vast vinyl collection graced the cover of his 1998 album, You’ve Come a Long Way, Baby).  On his fourth collection of sampled hooks and big beats, the nerdy native of Bromley, England digs into his crates and remakes the Steve Miller Band’s “The Joker,” sung here by Bootsy Collins. Strangest of all is “Don’t Let the Man,” which loops a “longhaired freaky people” sample from “Signs,” the Five Man Electrical Band’s Canrock anthem.

With his predilection for misfits and his flair for theatricality, Waits has crafted one of America’s most eccentric songbooks. His albums are carnival worlds, full of fringe characters and otherworldly sounds. Waits’ latest is no exception. “Hoist that Rag” is a demented rumba about high-sea mercenaries, while “Baby Gonna Leave Me” is a grunting, wheezing hurtin’ song. But the real masterpiece is “Day After Tomorrow,” where Waits’ genius turns a soldier’s humble wisdom into a poignant plea for peace.

Imagine the Specials mixed with Queen and Gang of Four—singing in thick, working-class English accents like Billy Bragg. Sunderland’s Futureheads are the oddest amalgam of influences. On paper, this shouldn’t work, but songs like “Le Garage” and “Robot” succeed on sheer originality, while “Alms” and “Stupid and Shallow” are both clever and meaningful. To top it off, the band even covers Kate Bush’s “Hounds of Love” and sings about American Dadaist/Surrealist photographer and painter Man Ray. Ultra-cool.

Fogerty forged his swamp-rock sound with Creedence Clearwater Revival, which he’s reprised in his solo work—leading a label to once try to sue him for plagiarizing himself. Here, Fogerty mines CCR’s “Have You Ever Seen the Rain” for the anti-war title track and “Run Through the Jungle” on “Wicked Old Witch.” But there’s also playful roots rock, a humorous nod to the Ramones and Mark Knopfler providing “Sultans of Swing”-style guitar to “Nobody’s Here Anymore,” about the soullessness of technogeekdom.  

Although they hail from the Big Apple, the members of Interpol have more in common with English bands than New York’s Velvet Underground. Much has been made of Interpol’s debts to Joy Division, but on its second album the group’s singer Paul Banks sounds more like the Psychedelic Furs’ Richard Butler than Ian Curtis. Fans of Interpol’s debut, Turn on the Bright Lights, will devour such dark, dreamy soundscapes as “Evil,” “Narc” and “Not Even Jail.” But the highlight is the more uplifting opener “Next Exit.”

Her father, Don Costa, was the producer for Sammy Davis Jr., while her godfather was Ol’ Blue Eyes himself. But Nikka’s no lounge singer. The red-headed siren, whose music has been featured in Tommy Hilfiger ads, is a dance-floor firecracker who owes more to Chaka Khan than, say Barbra Streisand (who her dad also produced). Mixing sultry ballads like “I Gotta Know” with such sexy funk workouts as “I Don’t Think We’ve Met” and the hyperkinetic title track, this scorching album is not for the weak-hearted.  

His promising debut suggested that Canada had produced another flamboyant pop artist like Rufus or Hawksley. But the followup album by Whitehorse native Boy (aka Stephen Kozmeniuk) is much closer to the rock charms of Sloan or Sam Roberts—not a bad thing either. The frenzied garage rocker “Up in This Town” and the surging “Same Old Song” reflect his early ’70s influences. And on “The New Number Two” instrumental and the dreamy “A Line to Stand Behind,” Boy’s melodic gifts shine on like crazy diamonds.