NIRVANA

Nirvana
(Geffen)

RATING: four

How do you explain Nirvana to people who never took to their music? How do you describe the way Kurt Cobain’s serrated blade of a voice could reach inside of you and yank out your heart through your throat? How can someone else understand how much pain and wisdom you can find in lyrics that sound like they were once bathroom wall graffiti: I’m so ugly/ That’s okay, ‘cause so are you; Sell the kids for food; All alone is all we are; Here we are now, entertain us; Rape me.

This was the coming-of-age music for a whole generation of pained teens (is there any other kind?) who took to Nirvana’s new brand of pre-millennial punk. Dave Grohl and Krist Novoselic were each talented musicians in their own right, but it was Cobain who was the dark star whose very presence was punk rock. With his intense, blue eyes peeking out from behind matted strings of blond hair, his thin frame hunched over a guitar and a microphone, Kurt was an anti-rock star anti-hero, a grunge god who preached empathy with, not salvation from, suffering. When he finally killed himself in April 1994, it was almost a perfect ending. Yes, we were shocked, yes, we were dismayed, yes, we thought it untimely—but what else is there for the king of pain? Surely nobody really thought he was destined for a happy ending.

Still, his death meant that Nirvana were only around for seven years and six albums; their reign as the kings of grunge really only lasted three years, from the release of Nevermind in 1991 to April 1994—not nearly enough time for the public to get enough of their music; perhaps not even enough time to let the band realize their full creative potential.

Nirvana is the long-delayed posthumous best-of compilation from the band, hurriedly released after a long legal battle between the surviving members of Nirvana and Kurt’s litigious widow, Courtney Love. Their only release since 1996’s From the Muddy Banks of the Wishkah, this collection comprises fourteen of their best songs, plus one previously unreleased track, “I Know You’re Right,” Kurt’s swan song, recorded just over two months before he died. This in itself isn’t a standout track, although it’s always newsworthy when a “new” Nirvana track is found. Otherwise, it doesn’t take a genius to pick out the songs to include in this compilation, and indeed, there are no contentious choices, nor any pleasant surprises here. Just the obvious, with only one new track and an essay by music journalist David Fricke to sweeten the deal.

Still, if nothing else, Nirvana offers the opportunity to trace the arc of the band’s career. Beginning with the landmark track “About a Girl,” off their 1989 debut Bleach—the first love song, and which Fricke refers to as Kurt’s first great one—the CD’s 15 tracks demonstrate Nirvana’s development as a band, and Kurt’s growth as a songwriter. There’s a world of difference between the rough-hewn “Been a Son” or “Sliver” and the phenomenal melodies and complicated lyrics of Nevermind’s “Smells Like Teen Spirit,” “Come as You Are,” “Lithium,” and “In Bloom.”

Nevermind, arguably one of the most important and influential rock albums of the 21st century, is of course well-represented in this collection, as is the impressive In Utero. This 1993 album may mark the band’s true peak, earning more lauds from critics than Nevermind, offering both the sophisticated grunge of “Heart-Shaped Box” and “Pennyroyal Tea” and the coarser, more direct “Rape Me” and “Dumb.”

You know, come to think of it, Nirvana only came out with three albums—the other three (1992’s Incesticide, 1993’s MTV Unplugged in New York, and 1996’s From the Muddy Banks of the Wishkah) were live sets and/or retrospectives. Of these, only MTV Unplugged is represented, with the band’s cover versions of “The Man Who Sold the World” and “Where Did You Sleep Last Night,” and the heartbreaking acoustic version of “All Apologies.”

I’d argue for the inclusion of a couple more tracks on this collection. Where’s “Drain You,” “Aneurysm,” or even “Pay to Play”? And where is “Polly”—how could they miss “Polly”? This is the song, a disturbing narrative of a rape told from the point of view of a rapist, that got even Bob Dylan to sit up and take notice. Missing also is “Something in the Way,” which is of autobiographical importance to Kurt; this is the song in which he recounts his days living as a runaway under a bridge—not true, most people around him say, but it’s a myth that Kurt liked to nurture.

Of course, it’s all a matter of taste. The truth is that Nevermind and In Utero are already best-ofs in themselves, given the many remarkable tracks on those albums and the limits of the Nirvana discography. If this collection were to try to please everybody, it might have just as well have just re-released the two albums with a few other token tracks.

The black-and-silver album packaging is somber and dignified, a far cry from the humor and edginess of their past covers. Nirvana offers nothing new by way of music or posthumous commentary, and is more a tribute than anything else. There’s no better, more respectful way to pay tribute than to keep quiet and let the music speak for itself; and this collection does just that.—Kristine D. Fonacier


Track List

“You Know You’re Right”
A previously unreleased track recorded on January 30, 1994, this song was recorded during Kurt Cobain’s final session with Nirvana. Krist Novoselic and Dave Grohl had been at the studio for two days, waiting for Kurt, when the singer finally showed up with no explanation for his absence, recording the track in minutes.

“About a Girl”
Recorded in December 1988, Kurt wrote this song about then-girlfriend Tracy Marander. According to Cobain biographer Charles Cross, Kurt would play the song in front of her but never admitted that it was about her. Directly influenced by the Beatles (Kurt wrote the song after listening to Meet the Beatles! for three hours), early audiences often mistook it for a cover.

“Been a Son”
Kurt, who had deep-seated issues with both parents while growing up, might have written this about his sister Kim, and how their father would have preferred a boy. Or it may have been a twist to an early Cobain line, “I wanted a father, but I got a dad.”

“Sliver”
“It’s probably the most straightforward song we’ve ever recorded,” Kurt told Melody Maker. This song was released as a single on SubPop, reappearing on Incesticide. The track features Mudhoney’s Dan Peters on drums.

“Smells Like Teen Spirit”
If there’s one song that launched the grunge era, this is it. The lyrics are mostly vague and unintelligible, though the title was taken from graffiti that Bikini Kill band member Kathleen Hanna spray-painted on Kurt’s wall: “Kurt smells like Teen Spirit,” taunting Kurt about his relationship with fellow Bikini Kill member Tobi Vail and referring to her brand of deodorant, Teen Spirit. (Hanna was dating Dave Grohl at the time.)

“Come As You Are”
Kurt was in the middle of a detox program when the band had to record the video for this single, and he insisted that all shots of his face be distorted or obscured.

“Lithium”
Referring to a popular pre-Prozac anti-depressive, the lyrics for this song changed over time. In an interview with the magazine Musician, Kurt said that the song was about “some of my personal experiences, like breaking up with girlfriends and having bad relationships.” The cover for the CD single featured a sonogram image of Frances Bean Cobain.

“In Bloom”
“I don’t like rednecks,” Kurt has been quoted saying to explain this song. A line that says, “He’s the one who likes all our pretty songs/ and he likes to sing along/ and he likes to shoot his gun/ but he don’t know what it means,” ridicules the rednecks that the band used to play to.

“Heart-Shaped Box”
Originally titled “Heart-Shaped Coffin,” Courtney Love advised Kurt to change the lyrics, saying that the original were “too dark.” The new title referenced a heart-shaped silk-and-lace box that Courtney gave Kurt early in their relationship.

“Pennyroyal Tea”
The version that appears on this album was a previously unreleased single mix by Scott Litt. Litt’s remix scheduled for release before Kurt’s death was stopped by the record company, though there are copies that leaked out—which now reportedly fetch as much as $1000 on eBay.

“Rape Me”
MTV executives threatened to pull the band off-air if they played it at the MTV Music Awards. To spite them, the band played the opening strains of “Rape Me”—causing panic in the control room—before shifting to “Lithium.” “We did that to fuck them,” Krist said.

“Dumb”
“All that pot. All that supposedly, unaddictive, harmless, safe reefer that damaged my nerves, and ruined my memory, and made me feel like wanting to blow up the prom. It just wasn't ever strong enough, so I climbed the ladder to the poppy,” wrote Kurt about this song.

“All Apologies”
“The Man Who Sold the World”
“Where Did You Sleep Last Night”
Recorded on November 18, 1993 for the MTV Unplugged series, Kurt was terrified about performing the stripped-down set. He threatened several times to withdraw from the show, but finally showed up and turned in one of the most unforgettable, most poignant performances of his career.

THE VERY BEST OF MTV UNPLUGGED

Various Artists
(Warner)

RATING: two and a half


Since it debuted in 1989, MTV Unplugged has been a showcase for musicians aiming to try out something new and radical with their music—in this case, taking their songs and stripping it down to bare acoustic bones. “No electric guitars. No keyboards. No special effects,” it claimed, and it was a radical idea in its time, because unplugging revealed the music for what it was, without studio effects or flashy instrumentalization. You could see the true beauty—or lack thereof—of the songwriting or the singers’ vocals.

The roster of musicians invited to the sessions have been impressive: R.E.M., Eric Clapton, Lenny Kravitz, Annie Lennox, Sting, Oasis, and Sheryl Crow were only some of the featured guests on the show. The sessions with Bob Dylan, Nirvana, Alanis Morissette, 10,000 Maniacs, The Corrs, Tony Bennett, Mariah Carey, and Bryan Adams were good enough to be released as separate albums. Through the years, the show has seen some unforgettable performances from some of the best musicians around.

It’s a shame, then, that The Very Best of MTV Unplugged errs on the safe side. The 18 selections on the album are crowd-pleasers—only the biggest names, and only their hits. Not bad in itself, but it also means that it doesn’t live up to the promise of its title: often, the very best performances came from musicians who insisted on venturing away from the safety of their regular repertoire.

Sure, this collection offers you Eric Clapton’s unmatched rendition of his elegiac “Tears in Heaven” and a poignant version of “Lightning Crashes” from Live. And, yes, there’s nothing wrong with Alanis Morissette’s “Ironic” or Sheryl Crow’s “Strong Enough” or Seal’s “Kiss from a Rose.” In fact, they’re very good. Some cuts—Lenny Kravitz’s slowed-down and sexy “Are You Gonna Go My Way,” for example, or Jimmy Page and Robert Plant’s “Gallows Pole”—are even excellent. And nobody’s going to complain about the inclusion of The Cranberries’ “Linger” or Bryan Adams’ “Summer of 69” or Paul Simon’s “Mrs. Robinson.” They’re all hits, after all.

But that’s the problem. The Very Best of MTV Unplugged doesn’t court argument because it doesn’t attempt much, sticking to the Billboard hits and staying away from the rarer, more interesting cuts. There are no collaborations, no covers on this album. Which means that you don’t get to relive the day the Meat Puppets sat in with Nirvana, when the Indigo Girls sang back up for Michelle Shocked, when Tesla teamed up with The Black Crowes, or when Slaughter played with Winger. You don’t get to hear Pearl Jam covering Neil Young’s “Rockin’ in the Free World,” Hole trying out Duran Duran’s “Hungry Like a Wolf,” Aerosmith paying tribute to the Doors with “Love Me Two Times.” Remember these? No? Well, that’s because they were never released on CD (except on bootlegs), and it’s too bad, because now it looks like no one ever will.

When Nirvana guested on MTV Unplugged in 1993, they carefully avoided playing the obvious choice—“Smells Like Teen Spirit”—and did a lot of covers, including a haunting cover of David Bowie’s “The Man Who Sold the World.” The show was a treasure trove of rarities, and the album disappoints by featuring none of these and having none of the courage of its concept. —Kristine Fonacier

DIVINE DISCONTENT

Sixpence None the Richer
(Reprise/ Warner)

RATING: three and a half

Here’s a band that’s hobbled by the very same thing that makes it soar: in this case, lead singer Leigh Nash. It’s Leigh’s voice that made “Kiss Me” the love song staple of 1997, but it’s hard to court credibility when you’re a pixie-cute vocalist with a girlishly sweet voice and a band that has a penchant for saccharine sweet pop hits.

Too bad, because Sixpence None the Richer have never really been about sweet pop. Divine Discontent, their follow-up to their breakthrough self-titled album, is in the same danger as its predecessor of being dismissed—not because there are no standout songs, but precisely because there are tracks whose catchiness threatens to obliterate the rest of the album.

“Breathe Your Name,” the first single off Divine Discontent, is a light and airy piece, opening with jangly guitars that open up into a sugary melody. With Leigh’s voice singing lines like, “You are in my heart/ I can feel your beat/ And you move my mind/ from behind the wheel/ When I lose control/ I can only breathe your name,” this single is destined for the same fate as their biggest hit, “Kiss Me,” overplayed on the radio and on video, but still just stopping short of being cloying. Leigh also uses her charm on a remake of the Crowded House classic “Don’t Dream It’s Over,” which, like their remake of The La’s “There She Goes,” was a faithful rendition that seemed just that much more lightweight than the original with her voice.

Is this such a bad thing? Perhaps not, and Sixpence know better than to knock it when they know it’s also their ticket to the top of the charts. But the truth is that the group has always been about more than just heavenly pop hits. Their work—from 1994’s The Fatherless and the Widow through 1995’s This Beautiful Mess and their eponymous breakthrough album—was darker and more poetic than their hits suggested, really more art pop than pop art. Their biggest hit to date may be a song called “Kiss Me,” but their discography is filled with titles like “Love, Salvation, the Fear of Death,” and “Within a Room Somewhere.”

There’s nothing wrong with falling in love with “Breathe Your Name” or “Don’t Dream It’s Over” or any of Sixpence’s lovely pop songs, but delve through Divine Discontent and you’ll find such surprisingly substantial songs like the lyrical “Tension is a Passing Note” and the soaring “Like a Million Parachutes.” Although Leigh’s voice remains as sweet as ever, on these and other tracks she uses it to hint at a vague sadness, with astonishing, heartbreaking results.

Here’s an album that will exceed your expectations. Buy it for the sweet hits, but beware that it’s just sugarcoating on a collection of 13 songs that will prove to be deeper, heavier, and far more satisfying than you’d think.—Kristine Fonacier

LIVE CITY SOUNDS

Mary Lou Lord
(Rubric)

RATING: three and a half

If commercial offerings—and by that I mean soundtracks for TV and radio ads—are any indication of star power (cf. Moby’s recent career), then Mary Lou Lord must have finally made it. Her old track, “Speeding Motorcyle,” was picked up by American retail chain Target as the soundtrack for its ads, bringing the Boston folk singer’s music to the attention of millions.

But, realistically, the advertising turn hasn’t made a megastar out of Mary Lou Lord, who continues only to be Boston’s favorite subway singer. Despite the cult popularity of her albums, MLL hasn’t really found enough of a following to push her out of small coffeeshop venues and sidewalk performances.

No bitterness here. She knows that this is where her roots—not to mention her strengths—are. If her previous album, Got No Shadow, paid homage to the subways with neat studio work, Live City Sounds recreates the experience. Recorded entirely in the subways on Park Street and Harvard Square in Boston on DAT, the 16 tracks on the album are often punctuated by talk, applause, and subway rattlings—live city sounds, in other words.

All the 16 tracks on the album are all covers, which is probably more closely representative of MLL’s live repertoire (she was never really a prolific songwriter). But unlike Tori Amos or any of the handful of others who’ve recently come out with cover albums, MLL takes a more relaxed attitude to borrowing—she doesn’t make a big deal out of the fact that these are covers, and neither should you.

Instead, focus on the sincerity of this release. It’s perhaps a given, considering that this is a live disc, but over and beyond that, there’s an honesty to MLL’s girlish voice that’s brought out by the bare acoustic accompaniment and the live setting. Tremulous but strong, small but brave, MLL’s voice really was made for intimate performances, not for big arenas.

The list of artists she chooses to cover reads like a list of requirements for street cred, and it would bring a smile to the faces of music fans: Magnetic Fields, Big Star, Bevis Frond, Daniel Johnston, Shawn Colvin, Bob Dylan, Bruce Springsteen, Billy Bragg. One of the best moments on the album comes in “Ontario, Quebec and Me” (“a fine request!” she compliments an unseen fan), on which she takes her voice a notch down to whisper her way through Bragg’s gentle classic. Likewise, Springsteen’s “Thunder Road” is lovingly redone, and when MLL announces at the end, “That’s a song by The Boss,” the way she reverently says his name comes as no surprise.

It’s moments like this that make Live City Sounds a one-of-a-kind release. You won’t find slick studio production or any big new numbers in this album, but the beauty of this release comes in its rough edges and in its honesty.—Kristine Fonacier

THE LAST BROADCAST

Doves
(Heavenly/ EMI)

RATING: four

Doves all but saved Britpop in 2000, renewing my faith in the music after Blur started to lie low and Oasis started to suck. Along with Coldplay’s Parachutes, their debut album Lost Souls was perhaps the most astonishing release to come out of the UK at the turn of the millennium. Doves continue their crusade to revitalize the face of Britpop with the excellent The Last Broadcast, a soundscape of electronica-infused guitar-based pop that is again destined to be among the year’s best imports.

Like its predecessor, much of the appeal of The Last Broadcast is cerebral—a contrast to Coldplay’s raw emotional appeal—but its intelligence doesn’t make it inaccessible. If anything, in fact, The Last Broadcast has a broader, easier appeal than Lost Souls. It’s definitely a more upbeat release, as Doves trade in the lush, dark instrumentals for happier melodies and a more positive demeanor.

But what is Doves music without darkness? Well, nothing. The trio—vocalist Jimi Goodwin and brothers Jez and Andy Williams—are from Manchester, after all, where a substantial amount of shoegazer music is born and bred. It’s not that The Last Broadcast doesn’t follow its predecessor in terms of ghostly gloom; it’s just that it hides it better. “Words” may open the album with a minute and a half of cascading guitars reminiscent of 80s new wave, but then the melodies take on a slight edge and Goodwin is ever-so-slightly sarcastic as he sings, “Words, they mean nothing/ So you can’t hurt me.” And somewhere along the way, the guitar riffs turn into little knives, and before you know it, you’ve got a proper song of retribution.

Then there’s the standout “M62 Song,” an acoustic adaptation of “Moonchild” by prog-rockers King Crimson. It’s supposed to be a rather faithful remake, though the reference to the original will be lost on newer audiences (myself included). Think instead of Nick Drake and Radiohead, or even the Beatles during some of their darker days. It’s the quietest track on the album, uncharacteristically spare, but it fits right in on the album’s overall mood.

The Last Broadcast is such a solid release, there’s hardly a bad moment on the entire album. It says well of Doves’s abilities that the highlights include two tracks on both ends of the stylistic spectrum: the fizzy, summery first single “There Goes the Fear,” and the unsubtle and complicated “N.Y.” The appeal of “There Goes the Fear” is simple, relying on the track’s head-lollingly uplifting refrain. The lyrics are actually pretty sad (“You turn around and life’s passed you by”), but they’re so neatly camouflaged by the upbeat melodies, you’re already singing along before you know what it’s about.

“N.Y.,” on the other hand, makes no bones about its contradictions. It opens with crashing guitars, drums, and effects like any in-your-face rock track, but seconds later it pulls back to reveal only a bare acoustic guitar and piano. The interplay between the simple and the lush—something Doves does very, very well—makes the track feel like a sonic journey through changing soundscapes. It’s a massive track, an engaging six-minute epic that asks no less than your full attention.

There’s already a wellspring of early hype pushing The Last Broadcast, and in this case at least, it’s hard to dispute the superlatives being heaped upon this first-rate release. Brilliant, moving, and utterly stunning, this album is one of the most satisfying releases to come out of the UK in a long while. —Kristine Fonacier

BEAUTYSLEEP

Tanya Donelly
(4AD)

RATING: four

Tanya Donelly is especially good at two things: love songs and lullabies. Her underrated solo debut, 1997’s Lovesongs for Underdogs, was just as its title suggested: an album full of subversive love songs that were surprisingly intelligent, richly textured, jagged and beautiful. And so it’s entirely appropriate that, for a follow-up, Tanya now turns her attention to her other specialty. Entitled Beautysleep, her second solo album opens with a track called “Life is but a Dream,” a gauzy, surreal track with a rhythm line that sounds like a sleeping heartbeat and ghostly sounds reminiscent of whalesongs. “Nothing ever ends/ nothing lasts forever,” Tanya sings, and while it’s not the kind of lullaby that put me to sleep as a child, but it’s the kind of philosophical puzzles that I like to torture myself with before bedtime these days. It’s only the first—and by no means the last nor even the best—of the many complicated lullabies for adults that populate this dark dream of an album.

Of course, she’s had some practice in the lullaby business since we last heard from her. Most of the five years between Lovesongs and Beautysleep found Tanya becoming a full-time mother, and it’s this love affair between mother and child that is celebrated in Beautysleep. Two of the album’s most striking songs, the first single “The Night You Saved My Life” and the carrier track “Keeping You,” are love letters to her daughter. Of these, “Keeping You” is the more stirring one: it is a quiet song, serene and sincere, and punctuated with surprising moments. “I’m keeping you,” Tanya murmurs quietly, before the restraint breaks and her heart opens up, singing “My return to wildlife by satellite/ by beautiful moon-shining girl.”

Of course, given the nature of her music, not all the lullabies in Beautysleep are quite so peaceful. “Moonbeam Monkey” takes its cue from the dark folk songs that used to scare children to sleep, and while “The Storm” is far sweeter than its title might let on, it’s still full of the kind of questions that are likely to keep you up at night. (“Moonbeam Monkey” is also notable for featuring Mark Sandman of Morphine, in one of his last vocal performances.)

As a writer and composer, Tanya shows a particular gift for imagery and melody, a great pairing tempered by the alt-rock flirtation with goth and punk that she started with Throwing Muses (where she was second banana to half-sister Kristin Hersh), and peaked during her years with Belly (which she fronted). Solo, she’s only been able to bring out nuances in her music, making her vocals float over the lushly textured, dark melodies of her guitar-based compositions. Her songs are sweet and sharp, inviting and frightening, dark and hopeful all at the same time, in a way that wasn’t always so clear with her band work.

Fittingly, there’s a hidden 12th track on the album that emerges like a dream fragment after the last song, incorporating some images and lines from some of the other songs for an acoustic anticlimax, finally drifting off to silence with a prayer—it’s a fine lullaby to end a fine album of subversive bedtime songs. It’s not for everybody; certainly not for those just looking for something to send their children off to sleep with. Donelly isn’t one for simple and easy; her lullabies are complicated and memorable. —Kristine Fonacier

FORTUNE COOKIES

Alana Davis
(Warner)

RATING: three and a half

Thank God she’s still around. While her debut album Blame It on Me enjoyed a good measure of success, Alana’s music wasn’t exactly mainstream material. It was great listening, but the five years of silence since then have only heightened my fears that her record label had written off Alana Davis as unsaleable.

So it was with great relief that I picked up Fortune Cookies, Alana’s much-awaited follow-up. Fortune Cookies wastes no time in reminding listeners of Alana’s singular charms that have been missed this half-decade of her absence. The album opens strong, with “Save the Day,” a sexy, radio-friendly track that uses the best tool at Alana’s disposal: her voice. Earthy, smoky, and sensuous, her vocals alone would distinguish her music from all the rest. But then her chosen genre—a warm blend of blues and folk, with a hint of R&B and jazz—is also unique, and the eleven songs in this collection move easily between these influences.

From the laid-back “I Want You” to the bouncy remake of the 70s classic “How Many of Us Have Them (Friends)” to the touching “God of Love,” Alana attempts more in this album. Alana’s maturation is graceful, and she seems to have skipped the awkward sophomore phase altogether, instead confidently stepping up and on.

There are a few new territories that Alana explores on this album. “Bye Bye” is 70s disco funk, complete with waah-waah guitars and a cheesy bass line; yes, it sounds like it could’ve been lifted off a soundtrack for a blaxploitation flick, but it’s actually pretty catchy, a playful break in the middle of the album. Then there’s “Got This Far,” which experiments with reggae influences. Stylistically, Alana is beginning to sound like a younger, more fun version of Joan Osborne, another white soul singer capable of an astonishingly wide range both as a singer and as a songwriter.

As sophomore albums go, Fortune Cookies is both satisfying and promising. In itself, it’s already a mature follow-up from a precocious artist whose debut Time magazine put on its list of five best releases of its year. But it’s also promising, showing the many new directions in which she could still grow. If creative juice is anything to go by, then it’s likely that Alana Davis is bound to be around for a long time. I shouldn’t have worried. —Kristine Fonacier

POP!

Various Artists
(BMG)

RATING: three

Normally there isn’t much to say about pop compilations like this. It’s an easy formula: take all the hits off of a dozen or so of your basic bestsellers, place them all in one disc, and package it all up with a nice new album cover and a title, preferably with the word “party” somewhere in there.
Pop! (subtitled “Party Flavour!”) follows the formula to the letter, but surprise surprise, offers a bit more. The 18 tracks on the album are already generous, but then there’s an extra VCD with videos for the first six tracks. That’s a nice enough bonus, but better than that is the surprisingly competent selection that made it to the CD.

Most of the 18 tracks are obvious enough. Any idiot would know to put Pink’s “Get the Party Started” as the disc’s opener, and of course you’ve got to put “Rock the Party” by Five somewhere, along with Christina Aguilera’s “Come On Over Baby,” something by Britney Spears—why not “Overprotected”?—and a healthy helping of boy band tracks: ‘N Sync’s “Girlfriend,” the Dan Huff remix of the Backstreet Boys’ “Drowning,” Blue’s “All Rise,” LFO’s “Every Other Time.” Then you’ve got to put in your BeeGees remakes, just for fun: “Nightfever” by B3 and “Chain Reaction” by Steps will both do nicely.

All of these qualify as usual fare for an all-hits compilation like this, but BMG’s offering distinguishes itself by putting in a twist or two. Dido and Groove Armada lend a much-needed hipness to the collection just by being there, but the choice of slightly lesser-known tracks (“Hunter” and “My Friend”) make it all that much more cool. Alicia Keys, who shows up early in the party, is a welcome guest even when she trots out only the expected (“Fallin’”), though the change in pace is in itself a good thing. And Kosheen, whose name may not have the same cachet as the rest of the artists on the album, are a welcome discovery for anyone who may have missed their album, with its infectious single “Hide U.”

This is not to say that there aren’t any misses. The latter part of the compilation is noticeably weighed down with weaker tracks and lamer names—I mean, who the hell invited O-Town to this gig?—and Westlife’s soulless, unimaginative cover of Sarah MacLachlan’s “Angel” and Aaron Carter’s annoying “I’m All About You” simply have no place in here.

But those few rotten parts aren’t enough to ruin the compilation, and overall, Pop! is surprisingly impressive for what it is. It wouldn’t have required much on the part of the record label to put together something like this, but someone somewhere was willing to put in some thought to it, and the result is one of the few all-hits compilations actually worth getting.—Kristine Fonacier

GIRL VERSIONS

Emm Gryner
(Dead Daisy)

RATING: three and a half

Do not read the liner notes on Girl Versions before you listen to the CD. In fact, try not to look at the CD cover too closely. Pop the CD in, let it spin, and pay close, close attention to the songs.

You’ll find yourself pleasantly surprised, as Filipino-Canadian indie artist Emm Gryner takes 10 songs by male artists and reads them as only a female pianist could. And, yes, the sexuality of the songs does come into play, because Gryner takes tracks from such artists as Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds, The Clash, Ozzy Osbourne, Stone Temple Pilots, and Def Leppard, picks out all the testosterone from the songs, and reinvented them as emotionally laden piano ballads. Gryner, in other words, stolen the songs from the men on Mars to bring to the women on Venus.

The transfigurations would make Professor McGonagall proud. If the line, “pour some sugar on me in the name of love” was an unsubtle sexual invitation from Def Leppard, it becomes a verse about deep yearning in Gryner’s hands. The sex hasn’t disappeared, but what the song loses in aggressiveness, it gains in seduction. Not a bad trade.

Fugazi’s “Waiting Room” and the socio-political manifestos “Crazy Train” by Ozzy Osbourne and “Straight to Hell” by the Clash likewise gain an emotional dimension only hinted at in the originals. And what Gryner can’t make more sensitive, she at least makes more melodic: who would’ve thought that Stone Temple Pilots’ “Big Bang Baby” and Blur’s “Song 2” could actually be sung?

Not everyone’s bound to like Gryner’s reworkings—and, indeed, there are some instances where the testosterone proves to be the song’s fuel, and the girl versions sound a little weak, or at least just a bit off. (Why even attempt Nick Cave’s “Straight to You” when no one can even approach his style?) That’s probably inevitable, but it must be said that Gryner’s vocal style and extraordinary piano-playing is always interesting, whether or not you’re listening to compare to the original versions.

Okay, so singer-songwriter goddess Tori Amos already did it on this year’s cover album Strange Little Girls, but one can’t accuse Gryner of being a copycat. The original Girl Versions was a limited-edition cassette released in 1996; this updated CD version is a recording of an intimate concert performance earlier in the year. Overall, Tori’s Strange Little Girls is a better, more intriguing covers album, but Gryner has no overwrought concept behind Girl Versions or the selections within, so it’s also the more casual, less contrived of the two.

Gryner is one of those underrated singer-songwriters who, unfortunately, have more talent than they have listeners. Girl Versions is self-released on her indie label Dead Daisy, so it can only be had through ordering from the website (www.deaddaisy.com). Gryner’s previous albums of originals have already proven that she’s an impressive songwriter, and Girl Versions only confirms the breadth of her creative talent.—Kristine Fonacier

CLOCK WITHOUT HANDS

Nanci Griffith
(Elektra)

RATING: three and a half

Nanci Griffith’s entry in The Rolling Stone Encyclopedia of Rock and Roll is all praises about the singer-songwriter’s long and impressive career in contemporary folk music, but it is appended with this telling sentence: “Despite widespread support from fans and peers, to date Griffith has not carved out a niche in commercial radio.”

Her latest release, Clock Without Hands, is not likely to change Griffith’s commercial luck, although it is an excellent work that is among her very best. True to form, the 14 stories in this album aren’t told with radio-friendly melodies—the music is almost negligible, actually—but Griffith’s lyrics are poetic and arresting in their imagery. In the title track, Griffith contemplates time and the fight to keep passion, singing, “I am a clock without hands/ I’m walking through the midnights/ Counting all the moments/ Of the loves I’ve left behind.” Listeners who’ve had the pleasure of hearing Griffith before know that this is a songwriter who still knows how to use metaphor, and use them well; it comes as no surprise to find out that Griffith is, after hours, also a writer of short stories and novels. In fact, Clock Without Hands pays homage to novelist Carson McCullers from whose last work Griffith borrows her album’s title.

In this, Clock Without Hands shares similarities with 1993’s Other Voices, Other Rooms, Griffith’s most successful album to date, which took its title from Truman Capote’s book. The two albums also share one other important similarity: guest star power. Where the previous album had Bob Dylan, Emmylou Harris, and country great John Prine, this release calls on John Stewart and ex-Kingston Trio member James Hooker. Linda Ronstandt and Jennifer Kimball (formerly with Jonatha Brooke’s group, The Story) also drop in to lend their vocals.

Okay, so the guests aren’t quite as lustrous as before, but the two guitarists do make important contributions to the album. Griffith covers Hooker’s “Cotton” and Stewart’s “Lost Him in the Sun,” “The Ghost Inside of Me,” and “Armstrong,” and co-writes with Hooker “Shaking Out the Snow” and “Truly Something Fine.” This is not to say that Griffith has given away the album, though there are two more covers (“In the Wee Small Hours” by Bob Hillard and David Mann, and “Where Would I Be” by Paul Carrack), bringing the grand total of songs solely penned by Griffith to only five. Griffith’s mark is clearly all over the album, covers and collaborators notwithstanding.

Griffith’s voice has mellowed out and deepened somewhat, and her compositions have become richer over the years. All these factors make Clock Without Hands a jewel in Griffith’s crown, and while it is probably not going to be flying off the shelves, we have to give credit to the brave record stores who’ve imported this unmarketable but talented release. Now all Nanci Griffith needs are listeners smart enough to snap this up.—Kristine Fonacier