Gordon Lightfoot Book, Music and More!

A former member of Virgin Music Canada’s street team, which had him spreading the news about Canadian urban music, Thrust (a.k.a. Christopher France) is now the latest breakout act from T-dot’s burgeoning hip-hop community. Less overtly sexual than Choclair, Thrust goes in for the sort of spacey, groove-heavy hip hop heard on “The One & Only” and “This is For Sure.” And like Kardinal Offishall, he basks in his Caribbean heritage, bookending his debut album with two delightful “interludes” that are rich in dense Jamaican patois.

On his previous solo outing, 1999’s Rock Art and the X-Ray Style, the punk grandad caught critics off-guard with a surprisingly robust collection of ethnically laced rock. Unlike his Clash-mates, Strummer had graduated to sophisticated relevance without losing his streetwise roots. Here, his Joe-ness proves he’s still got something to say, from the spirited pacifist sing-a-long “Johnny Appleseed” to the roaring internationalist dub of the title track.

Although he has a sinister voice to match his porn-star appearance, the handlebar-moustachioed Tyler Connolly still manages to sound vulnerable on a few tracks, like the suicide ballad “Last Song.” But most of the numbers rock hard, as you’d expect from any band produced by Nickelback’s Chad Kroeger. And Connolly writes more story songs than your average riff-rock band, mining a motherlode of tales of soured relationships along the lines of “Nothing Could Come Between Us,” the bluesy first single.

Here’s a concept: a Nashville country artist who sings real songs with real emotion. Although she’s from Ocala, Florida, Elizabeth Cook has been embraced by Music City, becoming a regular on the Grand Ole Opry and landing a big-time record deal. This is progress. Cook can belt out sexually charged honky tonkers like “Demon” or croon classic weepers like “Don’t Bother Me.” And her only cover is a dramatic, Roy Orbison-style arrangement of Jessi Colter’s “I’m Not Lisa.”  The real McCoy.

He’s been called a smart-aleck surrealist drunk on hip-hop. And after Midnite Vultures, it looked like pop’s slacker savant had become a funky daddy with a super-charged sex drive. But maybe Beck really just wants to be a singer-songwriter. While his latest album still scavenges pop’s landscape, it’s mostly a revisionist folk record that owes more to moody artists like Tim or Jeff Buckley than Moby or the Beastie Boys. But what results: “Lost Cause” and “Guess I’m Doing Fine” are simply superb, mellifluous songs.

The Boomers have carved out a market for themselves with pithy, mid-tempo rock for the over-40 set. Ian Thomas, who may be even funnier than his brother Dave Thomas, of SCTV fame, has a knack for writing honest, humorous views of midlife. And this cleverly titled album contains some of his best, including the oh-so-bittersweet “Life Goes On.” But the best is “I Don’t Feel Particularly Old.” “When I look in the mirror,” he deadpans, “Keith Richards looks back at me.” Geritol for adult contemporary listeners.

It’s hard to believe how cheerful Rhett Miller sounds, considering he survived both Texas alt-country weepers the Old 97s and 9/11, having escaped his Manhattan loft just minutes before the second World Trade tower disintegrated. But on his solo debut, produced by Jon Brion (Aimee Mann), Miller hits high on the happymeter, delivering enough sunny pieces of power pop to make Matthew Sweet or even Emmitt Rhodes jealous. Standout tracks include “Our Love,” “This is What I Do” and “Four-Eyed Girl.”

Like Rufus Wainwright, Ron Sexsmith seems to be an acquired taste despite his undeniable talent. How else to explain the singer-songwriter’s lack of a breakthrough? People (like Elvis Costello and Paul McCartney) love him, while others (who cite his “whiny” voice) loathe him. This album will do nothing for Sexsmith’s dissenters. But songs like the soulful “These Days” and the tender “God Loves Everyone” will thrill fans. And the hopeful “Gold in Them Hills” is a gem that deserves to be a hit.

Miss Peaches has been singing not-so-coy come-ons ever since 1955’s “Roll with Me Henry.” But the stage is where her sexually suggestive act really shines. And on this live recording, the elderly artist proves she could still teach even Carole Pope how to get down and dirty. Apart from an unwise cover of “Born to Be Wild,” the legendary singer (born Jamesetta Hawkins) sticks to r&b favourites like “Come to Mama” and “Rock Me Baby.” And the album-closing ballad, “Sugar on the Floor,” is stunning.

Len endeared themselves to millions with “Steal This Sunshine” and their sense of humour. Here, Toronto’s poppy hip-hoppers, led by Marc Costanzo and his sister Sharon, continue the trend. “Don’t f--- with us,” they declare, “because we drink too much”—a theme that also runs through songs like “Funnel” and “Boozehounds.” But the most imaginative offerings are the summer-themed “Bobby,” featuring reggae DJ Whitey Don, and “Kookoo Ducks,” a piece of lunacy possibly inspired by Lewis Carroll.