Kaito first proudly raised their lo-fi banner in Norwich, England in 1998.  Since then British and American music critics have been screaming the praises of this leftfield, off-kilter band.  The group certainly evokes other avant-rock darlings of the indie press, like Bis, Stereo Total, or Blonde Redhead.  Kaito's lead singer, Nikki Colk, squawks and belts out repetitive melodies that are as mesmerizing as they are enchanting.  Of course, the magic runs afoul on a few of the more grating numbers, including a screeching assault, "Should I," and a nondirectional, unnerving song called "Try Me Out."  Yet at her best Colk leads Kaito through some truly pretty tunes.  In particular, "Nothin New" and "Moi" float along as Colk croons airily over meandering guitars and an assortment of sedative, ambient electronic blurps.  Kaito is at its best, though, when belting out amphetamine-fueled rev-fests, like "A. S. A. to Accuracy" and "Anamoy."  The faster songs bring to mind The Raveonettes.  That is, if that Danish band played more than three chords, played twice as fast, and rocked out with utter abandon.  Not surprisingly, Kaito's high-energy, breakneck live shows have gained them a massive underground following.  This disc will undoubtedly appeal to fans of all that was atonal, yet vaguely melodic in the nineteen-nineties.  Other folks who crave a shock to their senses now and then will also find much hidden treasure herein.

-Randall J. Stephens 
 

On the back of Loose Fur's debut CD, five potential band names are written with lines drawn through them, and "Loose Fur" -- the only one that is not yet crossed out -- is scrawled at the very bottom of said list. But just as this band could have easily passed for "Mentalists" or "Racoonists" (two of its unused monikers), the trio of Glenn Kotche, Jim O'Rourke, and Jeff Tweedy (AKA Wilco folks moonlighting) sounds like a different band entirely, almost from track to track.

The opener, "Laminated Cat," rocks with a little disjointed Velvet Underground-like electric guitar noise, only to be followed by the folk-ish "Elegant Transaction," which sounds on the verge of busting into a bluegrass breakdown. And then the very next song, "So Long," turns into a layered vocal workout during its outro. 

Tweedy's lyrics are almost indecipherable in places ("You boil hearts/and discuss birds"), whereas O'Rourke's couplets sometimes lean toward the pun-y side ("And don't strike a conversation with a cigarette/Like an old flame, burned up, and out of breath"). These two robust musicians vary in vocalization.  Tweedy comes off rough and tortured, while O'Rourke brings a velvety presence. 

Loose Fur is one messy-headed little side project, which is definitely not for the perfectly groomed coif set. And yet, it adds nicely to collective hair-itage of these respected musicians.

-Dan MacIntosh
 

Morphine created its dark, unique sound by combining Mark Sandman's slippery bass lines and weary vocals, with Dana Colley's oddly jazzy saxophone textures. For the most part, and in a most un-rock ‘n' roll fashion, seldom were there guitar parts in their songs.  Hence, Morphine had a stark and open quality that left lots of wide-open, suggestive spaces. Tragically, Sandman collapsed on stage during a performance in Rome, and died of a heart attack at the age of 47. This particular release collects the best moments from the band's three Rykodisc releases, and sweetens the deal with four unreleased tracks. You certainly get the sad feeling from listening to this album that there was still a whole lot of great music left in Morphine.

Some of this disc's new tracks are nonessentials, including the Eartha Kitt-inspired "Sexy Christmas Baby Mine" and the slightly tedious "Jack And Tina." But everybody should own a copy of this album for the incredible "Buena," the hesitantly optimistic "Cure For Pain," a tasty song called "Candy," and especially for the joyously adulterous "Thursday." 

-Dan MacIntosh

Since the late 1980s Jeffrey Runnings has acted as the reigning king of Nebraska dream pop.  It may seem as unlikely a combination of genre and place as could be conceived, but the wide spaces and flat horizon of the great plains seems a fitting landscape for Runnings' sometimes sparse, sometimes rattling Anglophilic music.  Though few have taken notice (not counting Jack Rabid from "Big Takeover Magazine" who rated "Coalesced" his number 1 album of 2002), Runnings has produced a steady stream of admirable EPs and LPs in the last 15-16 years.  Sticking to what he knows best, on this, his 6th full-length, Runnings delivers seven cascading, guitar-driven songs.  The production is pretty spot-on late 1980s: guitars are affected liberally with chorus, the vocals are soothing and sound like they were recorded in a cave, and the drums appear distant and heavily reverbed.  It leaves one with the impression that this could be one of Runnings' original recordings from the late Reagan era.  That eccentricity, which at times is the album's best asset, wears thin after a while.  The songs are similar enough in production and composition that there is little to distinguish one from the other.  Then again, it is rather refreshing to hear someone reworking the genre of old post-punk in the new millennium.  Lovers of Echo & the Bunnymen, Joy Division, and The Teardrop Explodes will be happy to know that someone is still keeping their tradition alive.

-Randall J. Stephens

At one point during the song "Roots," Devendra Banhart blurts out; "I don't play no rock and roll." He sure ain't kidding. Instead, Banhart has filled this album with fractured acoustic folk poetry, sung with a quivering Marc Bolan style voice. As this album's long title hints, Banhart has a tendency to ramble.  Which is why so many of these songs sound like wordsalad brainstorms, rather than complete songs.

There are 22 tracks all told, the longest of which clocks in at 4:30. Banhart mainly supports himself with blues-y acoustic guitar picking, and little else. His lyrics are primarily observational, and range from his desire to live in Michigan ("Michigan State"), to longings for the swift arrival of Christmas ("The Spirit Is Near"). Banhart's singing is emotional, but it's hard to tell if he's upbeat, depressed, or just plain manically bizarre. Again, perhaps it's because his lyrical content resembles the sort of stuff spaced out homeless people spout off on city busses.  Yet with a difference; Banhart does so with poetic flair. 

By record's end, Devendra Banhart leaves the impression of being an endearingly sweet oddball.

-Dan MacIntosh