Gordon Lightfoot Book, Music and More!

Boasting the sort of left-of-centre, slightly rococo balladry of Rufus Wainwright or Hawksley Workman, Boy (a.k.a. Stephen Noel Kozmeniuk) is a wonder to behold in these days of formulaic pop. The 20-year-old native of Whitehorse, Yukon uses clarinets, strings and offbeat art-rock songs like “French Diplomacy” and “Rose-Marie’s Café” that could only come from someone removed from the commercial influence of big-city music scenes. With a voice that sounds either jaunty or jaundiced, Boy is surprisingly bracing—like an unexpected Arctic breeze.

Fast and furious, At the Drive-In caused a stir with time-shifting punk-rock numbers like “One Armed Scissor.” From the ashes of that El Paso, Tex. group arises two new bands: Sparta and this intriguing outfit, featuring afro’d frontmen Omar Rodiguez-Lopez and Cedric Blixer-Zavalas. The Mars Volta may be the hottest thing on the neo-prog rock scene, mixing Pink Floydisms like “Roulette dares (this is the haunt)” with Latin salsa and Black Flag-inspired blasts of high-octane emotion. A rockier Radiohead.

It’s been easy to give this Inuit singer-songwriter short shrift, lumping her in with easy listening, CBC-supported stars like Rita MacNeil. While Aglukark has often been guilty of hitting all the same warm, fuzzy notes, her latest album shows signs of real artistic growth. From the throat singing of the opening “Katadjaq” to the stirring “Suongon” and the gentle “Whaler’s Lullaby,” there’s more Inuit lyrics than before. And while the bilingual “Crystal House” ranks as one of Aglukark’s best songs, “Tin Gods” represents a surprisingly darker side.

The worst you could say about Sloan is that the group’s four members—who all write songs and take turns at lead vocals—are too talented for their own good. Sometimes their record collections—which lean heavily on AC/DC and Cheap Trick—are too evident in their hook-laden sound. In other words, Sloan’s a hard act to dislike. The band’s latest has everything from the harmony-drenched riff rock of “Gimme That” to the power-pop sweetness of songs like “False Alarm.” And there’s not a clunker among them.

Up to now, the Portland, Ore. poseurs have reveled in their Velvet Underground affectations, adopting psychedelic flourishes and even flaunting a song called “Lou Weed.” With the group’s latest album, named after Kurt Vonnegut’s short story collection, the Warhols have ventured in Duran Duran territory, conscripting Nick Rhodes as co-producer and synth-player and Simon Le Bon as backup vocalist. It’s not as dreadful as it sounds and songs like “The Dope,” “Plan A” and “We Used to Be Friends” possess a sweet, hypnotic power. Dandy Duran.

Rod Stewart’s done it. So, too, has Bryan Ferry. So it’s not surprising that the angel-voiced former dockworker from New Orleans should turn his attention to jazz chestnuts. Although the repertoire is predictable, Neville’s quivering falsetto makes even well-worn favorites like Gershwin’s “Summertime” and Cole Porter’s “In the Still of the Night” sound remarkably fresh. And his renditions of “Nature Boy” and the evergreen “Danny Boy,” featuring Ry Cooder’s masterful guitar, are nothing short of sublime.

It’s no wonder that Oasis’ Noel Gallagher once wanted to sign BRMC to his own Brother Records label. Much of the California band’s second album bears more than a passing resemblance to the Manchester group’s psych-rock roar, especially on tracks like the opening “Stop,” the insistent “In Like the Rose” and the closing “Heart and Soul.” BRMC shows its sensitive side on the ballad “And I’m Aching” and its brand of heaviosity on the threatening “U.S. Government.” But mostly, it’s a big, Oasis-like wank.

The Danish duo of Sharin Foo and Sune Rose Wagner do for the ’60s girl group sound what the White Stripes’ Jack and Meg White do for country blues: inject their minimalist version with an invigorating dose of garage rock. The Ravonettes favor short, snappy three-minute ditties and heavenly boy-girl harmonies on songs that evoke both the Shangri-las (“Noisy Summer”) and the Ramones (“Heartbreak Stroll”). And the album’s title track brilliantly mixes earthly grunts with spacey tremolo. Oddly infectious.    

As a member of the Rankin Family, Jimmy sang his way into Canadian hearts and homes with original Maritime songs and his siblings’ crystal-clear harmonies. When the Rankins called it quits in 1999, Jimmy pursued a solo career. But his debut album, 2000’s Song Dog, was overshadowed by the tragic death of his brother, John Morris. Now Jimmy is back with a collection of songs, including the soaring “Butterfly” and the banjo-driven “Morning Bound Train,” that suggests that healing has led to a renewed confidence.

Richardson claims to worship at the altar of Sam Cooke, Otis Redding and Marvin Gaye. And certainly “Keep on Pushin’,” the opening track here, borrows so liberally from Cooke’s “A Change is Gonna Come” that it comes dangerously close to copyright infringement. But that’s where the similarities end. The North Carolina native shares none of his heroes’ depth of character, nor visceral passion. Five different production teams only succeed in turning Richardson’s album into dull, generic neo-soul.