The Cure
The Cure

The Cure’s Robert Smith has always represented discontent. His smudged lipstick and teased bouffant are merely visual identifiers of his isolation. Yet the Cure’s sound has never felt as dense or dire as possible – until now. Producer Ross Robinson (Slipknot) has brought to the band’s dark entreaties a sludgy sound that matches Smith’s descending chords and generally bleak words.

On “Lost,” the guitars sound as tangled as Smith’s hair while he moans, “I got lost in someone else.” The mournful “Labyrinth” and the grungy “Us or Them” (Smith’s most aggressive moment) are fueled by Robinson’s mortar-thick take on the Cure’s cobwebbed wall of guitars.

That density sometimes lets the band down, creating an empty weightiness for buoyant pop melodies (“The End of the World”) and Smith’s occasionally optimistic lyricism. No matter. The punkish energy of Smith’s sorrows and pities comes through louder and clearer than it has in a long time.

-A.D. Amorosi, Knight Ridder Newspapers

Jim White
Drill a Hole in That Substrate and Tell Me What You See

On his third album on David Byrne’s Luaka Bop label, Southern Gothic singer-songwriter and former surfer and runway model Jim White makes his move for a little adult-alternative radio play. “Drill a Hole,” largely produced by Joe Henry, kicks off with a fetchingly low-key duet with Aimee Mann on “Static on the Radio,” and contains a surprisingly unannoying collaboration with Barenaked Ladies in “Alabama Chrome.”

But despite the sonic sheen, and other cameos by M. Ward, Oh Susanna and Bill Frisell, White’s singular vision comes through unadulterated. He expresses his free will on the chicken-fried funk of “Combing My Hair in a Brand New Style” and, in “If Jesus Drove a Motor Home,” imagines the son of God cruising in a Winnebago, listening to “Bob Dylan motivation tapes,” and chowing down at the Waffle House.

-Dan DeLuca, Knight Ridder Newspapers

Tres Chicas
Sweetwater
Chris Stamey
Travels in the South

Tres Chicas are three singers with backgrounds in storied alt-rock/alt-country bands from North Carolina: Caitlin Cary of Whiskeytown, Tonya Lamm of Hazeldine, and Lynn Blakey of Let’s Active (and now of Glory Fountain). On their first album together, these indie sweethearts of the rodeo make for a grouping that’s inspired in a seductively understated way.

The original songs on “Sweetwater” exude a moody, sometimes dreamy vibe with a meld of folk, country and pop, while the singers’ gentle harmonies both bring out and soothe the hurt at the heart of many of the tunes. Tres Chicas can also kick it up, however, as they show with a feisty, twang-fueled version of Loretta Lynn’s “Deep As Your Pocket” and a gospel romp through George Jones’ “Take the Devil Out of Me.”

“Sweetwater” was produced by Chris Stamey, who has made his own return to recording after spending much of the last 13 years as a producer and sideman. On “Travels in the South,” he’s back to his own “roots,” so to speak, making trademark power-pop that at its melodic and occasionally propulsive best recalls his work with the great dB’s.

-Nick Cristiano,Knight Ridder Newspapers

Sweetback
Stage 2

Since Sade records about as frequently as the U.S. changes presidential administrations it’s no wonder her backing band occasionally records on its own.

Sweetback steers away from Sade’s cool jazz-pop sophistication but displays impressive instrumental prowess and veers toward a slight contemporary edge with classic rock and hip-hop accents on this second CD.

Stage 2 is also suitable for dinner party background music or for downing a couple Merlots in style.

-Howard Cohen, Knight Ridder Newspapers

Delays
Faded Seaside Glamour

Greg Gilbert sings like a girl, and that’s half the joy of Delays, the Britpop band that recalls the glories of Lush, the La’s, and the Left Banke – bands that prized euphoric, densely melodic, harmony-happy tunefulness.

Gilbert’s falsetto can make him sound like Stevie Nicks or the Cranberries’ Dolores O’Riordan, and part of the pleasure of “Faded Seaside Glamour,” the quartet’s debut, is the constant amazement that, yes, that’s a guy singing those soaring, keening vocals.

But the gender ambiguity would be a fleeting novelty if the band didn’t have the songs to back it up. The album opens with a trifecta of summery pop songs, all jangly guitars, rolling melodies, and reverberating vocals. It matches those heights later with the Hollies homage “Hey Girl” and the thumping chorale “On.”

– Steve Klinge, Knight Ridder Newspapers