Tim Brough's Black Leather Bookshelf

Telling Strange Tales
4 Out Of 5 Stars

Stripping themselves back considerably from their last few albums, Coldplay's "Ghost Stories" bares the band to key piano pop balladry and Chris Martin's laments of love. For fans of the lush "Viva La Vida" or the Eno-inilftrated "Mylo Xyloto, this will sound almost naked. Martin has never sounded this intimate, and the band hasn't been this uncluttered sine their "Parachutes" debut.

What would explain this sudden call back to a more bare bones sound? Well, for one, Martin and longtime lady Gwyneth Paltrow have called it quits, and some of the songs sure do feel like break-up please. "Magic" is the earnest tip of the iceberg, as Martin keeps begging "I don't want anyone else but you" over and over above a most subdued electronic pulse. Where most other bands would make this into pure corn, Coldplay make it so darn earnest that you kind of feel for the guy. And it doesn't always work. Soon after, he wails on "Ink" that he loves so much it hurts...just like that brand new tattoo. Even Martin can't get away with that one.

But what he does pull out of his hat here is sometimes close to brilliance. Coldplay may easily be one of the biggest bands in the world, but few would make such a left field turn as they do on "Ghost Stories." That inclination towards pop heavens is on full display on the album's most uptempo track, "Sky Full Of Stars." On prior albums, the band would have laid on the production till the song was bleeding U2-isms, this time around, it's piano filtered through some electronic treatments and Martin laying on as thick as he can. "In a sky full of stars, I think I saw you..." just as the beat kicks in courtesy of Swedish DJ Avicii. It's the kind of song that makes you happy to hear it on the radio.

"Ghost Stories" may be confessionals all the way, but it also brings Coldplay down to Earth. By the time it's over, Martin is comparing himself to a flock of birds drifting above the ground in that big falsetto of his. For all the glitter and widescreen production of their previous albums, this is where they finally find their soul. Bare souls, it seems, perhaps fly better.

God Of The Sun
3 Out Of 5 Stars

If you were wondering what "Helios" is, the Ancient Greeks worshiped the dude. The Fray seek to harness that power on their fourth album, and it's a dramatic change of pace for the band. Their stock in trade before this was piano-driven adult pop, but they've pushed the pianos to the back of the stage for this album. Only the opener, "Hold My Hand," will sound familiar with The Fray via their biggest hit, "How To Save a Life." The rest vary from another Ryan Tedder insta-hit (actually, the excellent "Love Don't Die") to danceable pop ("Give It Away").

Lead singer Isaac Slade is pretty decent at making accessible soft rock tunes, and even with attempts at breaking the mold, like the drumbeat stomp of "Wherever This Goes" strain at the bit for the band to just cut loose a bit more, which is why the outside sourced "Love Don't Die" stands out so much. If Coldplay is watered down U2, then The Fray is Coldplay filtered to a pop essence. They even channel The Cure at one point, on "Closer To Me." You can tell that The Fray are more ambitious than they can actually accomplish, which makes "Helios" at least enjoyable. If middle of the road but capably produced pop (think Coldplay, Maroon 5 and OneRepublic) turns your motor, "Helios" will set your sun dial.

What's a Flag to a Pawn Shop
4 Out Of 5 Stars

When John Ondrasik embarked on the fourth album as Five For Fighting, he made his most obvious move into piano soft pop to that date. "Two Lights" follows in the path of Billy Joel and Elton John. and ay his quirkiest, Ben Folds. It's also the first album he recorded after the birth of his son. So gone are the rocking instincts and in come the falsetto-ed songs to fatherhood. The top 40 single, "The Riddle," epitomizes these emotions, as he imagines his son growing up with the questions every parent must answer, backed with string and John's ever-so-sincere singing.

Not that any of this should surprise previous followers of Five For Fighting. He's been getting mellower and mellower as each album passes, and "Two Lights" is a continuation of that path. What makes his albums consistently is how much of an ear for earnestness and production he's got. Strings swell at just the perfect moment, and there's still plenty of populist lyrics like the kind that made him a star with "Superman" in 2001. It's all very sweet, with the occasional tip of the hat to Americana.

That lineage is explored by the lead track, "Freedom Never Cries." Using the metaphoric imagery that starts with taking a flag to a pawnshop, John tracks that flag's path along the road where "I only talk to God when somebody's about to die" before ultimately hoping for a world of peace for his newborn and the thought that he "never loved a soldier until there was a war." It's a moving (if obvious pull at the heartstrings) song, and among his best. Yet he doesn't forget about the not so distant past, as he longingly recalls his "65 Mustang." The only time this point of view falls flat in "Johnny America," which overworks its premise.

Then there's "Policeman's Xmas Party," a total fiasco. Since John signs mostly in a high register, here he intentionally sings above his range and phrases the song in a grating way. If there was any song that cleaves to the Ben Folds analogy, this is one of them. Too clever and overtly annoying, it makes one wonder why it made the final cut. Better, however, is "California Justice," a road trip gone wrong. The combinations on "Two Lights" don't always work, but John is a strong enough singer/songwriter to skate above the lesser of the numbers here (except "Policeman's Party"). making "Two Lights" land in the middling area of Five For Fighting's discography.


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Not Cheap, and Not Easy

4 Out Of 5 Stars

"The piano isn't firewood yet," declares Regina Spektor on the melancholy "Firewood," and like so many singers of her ilk, she finds many ways to make you beg her to stay at the keyboards. "What We Saw From The Cheap Seats" is an album filled full with optimistic despair, desires quenchless, and Spektor's own unique take on the world of pop tunes. There's a finesse to her songwriting that is now taking on the likes of Randy Newman for elegance in the darkness of the human condition, from the aforementioned "Firewood" to the poignant ballad "How."

I think it should be noted that her producer this time is Mike Elizondo, the man who helped Fiona Apple rescue "Extraordinary Machine." Unlike the multi-producer helmed "Far," "Cheap Seats" maintains a consistent feel and sound. Be it the guttural rasps that she uses to punctuate "Open" or the longing she drives out from "All The Rowboats" ("...keep trying to row away"), she's pulling no emotional punches. Yet, even with the album's cohesiveness and dour lining, there are moments of childlike glee. She pulls the chorus of "Don't Let Me Be Misunderstood" into "Oh Marcello" with such cheer that you'd think she was the original writer, or the warm calypso feel of "Don't Leave Me," which bounces along chipperly.

Don't kid yourself, however. Spektor buries the cruelest cuts in her poppiest moments, like "The Party." "You're like a big parade through town, you leave a mess but you're so much fun." "What We Saw From The Cheap Seats" is on a par with "Far" and her acknowledged masterpiece "Begin to Hope," and is the type of CD that rewards you the more you listen it it. Her track record continues unbroken.

 

   

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Shifting the faultlines
5 Out of 5 Stars

Say what you will about Tori Amos, her second album bent music in a new direction. Once "Little Earthquakes" opened a whole new audience of sensitive women who liked their music heavy on mystic and or religious imagery, devoid of bombast and just speaking to a crowd that was being ignored, Tori Amos found that crack and made it her very own Teutonic plate. There's good reason for that. "Little Earthquakes" sounded like little else out at the time (bear in mind, this was the year of Nirvana) and. other than Kate Bush, no other woman was bending traditional pop structures at will.

It makes Tori an anomaly. "Silent All These Years" missed the top 40, bit she's hit the top 5 albums constantly. She rarely uses electric guitars, "Crucify" starts the album with piano and drums only. Tori;s voice was often the most electrifying here, breaking from whispers and panting into tortured wails, then back again, like "Precious Things." (Which contains one of the most brutal put-downs of all-time in "So you can make me cum? That doesn't make you Jesus.") The painful alliance between womanhood and Christendom is a reoccurring theme on "Little Earthquakes," and Tori's "faeries" clung to it because they all understood where a riposte like "what's so special about really deep thoughts? You better hope I bleed real soon, how's that thought for you?" could spring from.

It's why "Little Earthquakes" meets one of my main standards of 5 star/classic albums. Tori successfully leapt from Glam/Goth Gal on "Y Kant Tori Read" to a knowing singer/songwriter the likes we hadn't seen since Carole King. She has artistically outgrown that label a long time back, but "Little Earthquakes" made young adult women realize that there was a place for them in music that didn't have to be Nine Inch Nails or Phil Collins.







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