"Wintertime" - various artists
"Loop" - Keller Williams
"Trampled By Lambs and Pecked By The Dove" - Trey Anastasio and Tom Marshall
"Don't Let Go" - Jerry Garcia Band
"The Houseman Cometh" - Theryl de'Clouet
"They Live" - Wise Monkey Orchestra
"As Above: Live at the Lizard Lounge" - Club d'Elf
"Meditations" - C. Lanzbom
"Little Sparrow" - Dolly Parton
"Metal Machine Music" - Lou Reed (reissue)
"Scraps" (reissue) - NRBQ
"In Praise Of Learning" (reissue)
"Motherbug" - Will Bernard
"Nordic Roots 2" - various artists
"Far From Home" - Cool Water Canyon
"Body" - Zyrah's Orange
"Chapter One: Desire" - Laura Scarborough
"Freedom Swing" - Tyler Ramsey Trio
"Poo's Bane" - Jim
"Goodnight Irene" - Woodshed
"Buzzard's Banquet" - Left For Dead
"spacefolds 6" - Quarkspace
"Wisteria" - Hobex

This CD is culled from a marathon evening of close to five hours of almost non-stop music. The occasion was Warren Haynes' 11th annual Christmas jam, held at the Thomas Wolfe Auditorium in Warren's hometown of Asheville, NC. The show raised a substantial sum of money for Habitat For Humanity, an international organization that arranges for affordable housing for the homeless and otherwise unfortunate.

The CD opens with Edwin McCain performing a solo acoustic version of Beautiful Life. This song seems, on the surface, to criticize those who are insulated by the "beautiful life" of show business. There is even a reference to "jeopardy" that hints at the fact that this may contain autobiographical elements (McCain has been on VH1's Rock n' Roll Jeopardy). However, by the last verse it is clear that the song is directed towards complacency that keeps people from larger issues like environmental causes, compassion, and respect for fellow men. Warren Haynes joins McCain for the next two numbers and adds depth to McCain's music with his delicate acoustic guitar accents. He colors gently behind McCain's lyrics at moments, other times echoing McCain's inflections. Haynes's playing carries this song, as McCain's lyrics don't particularly speak to me. Haynes steps up for some gorgeous soloing as well, even subtly referencing the Allman Brothers' Blue Sky near the end of the song. Edwin offers one of the better retorts to an obnoxious heckler with, "oh, go home Dad, you're drunk," before easing into I'll Be. I'm not usually a fan of love songs, but this song is honest where many love songs are idealistic, and heart-felt where many are sappy. Haynes incorporates the melody of the chorus beautifully into the song-closing solo.

The Derek Trucks Band steps the CD up into high gear with eight songs that feature an impressive array of guests. The band begins with their wonderful take on Bob Marley's Rastaman Chant. Trucks' gorgeous prelude to Todd Smallie's seductive opening bass line may be familiar to those who have seen DTB, but if you are not familiar with the DTB version of the song, this CD is a must have for you. Trucks and Smallie tenderly massage the melody with embellishments that increase in frequency and complexity as the song progresses. They lay back for a while to let Kofi Burbridge step out with some languid flute. At one point Smallie starts coaxing little pop notes out of his bass, which Burbridge responds to by upping the intensity of his flautal input. As Trucks takes it back over, we get a window into why I feel Trucks was selected to join the Allman Brothers Band. Trucks starts with a solid lead, weaving in and out of Smallie's bass and Bill McKay's keyboards, before challenging himself. He brings the music down to a whisper without breaking continuity. Trucks skillfully engages his cohorts and they impressively build the tension in unison. The band also uses restraint in gradually bringing the piece to its whispering close.

DTB then offers a relatively straight take on Chicken Strut, which is neither impressive nor disappointing. Todd Smallie shines again though, as he first skips through the lower registers of his bass with frightening ease, and later delivers a quick, punchy solo. Yonrico Scott attempts to push the band to little energy bursts at various points, but the other band members aren't on his map.

Yonrico Scott commences the guest portion of the set, as he introduces Jimmy Herring, offering high praise, "He's like our teacher". This was a little foreshadowing for fans of the Allman Brothers Band, as Trucks and Herring would spend the next summer sharing ABB guitar duties for the first time. When Trucks was a young guitarist, Herring was one of the first to take him under his wing and share his considerable musical knowledge. It is always special when these two are on stage together, and this version of DTB's 555 Lake is no exception. McKay's vocal is tentative at times (it may have been a mike problem), but mostly strong. The lyrics are almost impossible to make out for the majority of the song. However, we are treated to some stellar Herring guitar on the second instrumental break. After Jimmy rips it up, the dust settles into some shared guitar weeping between Trucks and Herring, which gives way to a dual lead that is downright Zambi-fied ear candy. Herring and Trucks effortlessly lead the jam out and into the stratosphere, before Colonel Bruce joins the band as they segue into Yield Not To Temptation.

Bruce's inimitable lead vocal energizes the band as they storm through Temptation. The sound of Jimmy Herring ripping through a lead, buoyed by Trucks' sweet background licks is beyond tasty. Trucks takes over for some classy slide work, easing the band into Turn On Your Lovelight. Susan Tedeschi's luscious vocals add a sexy nature, and she fits in comfortably with the Colonel's spirited lead. They engage in some call and response, which spurs a good bit of audience reaction. Although Susan chooses to repeat the first verse (which the Colonel had already sung) she is able to inject her own personality into the mix. Susan also ends the first disc with by picking up the guitar to help DTB with a rich rendition of Just Won't Burn, bringing the CD to a slow, bluesy close. She also leads the second disc by stirring memories of Bonnie Raitt, with a sweet, solo acoustic version of a John Prine song that Bonnie made popular, Angel From Montgomery.

There are two other songs on disc one, one of which finds DTB joined by the muscular blues guitar of Larry McCray (there are more than a few Gov't Mule fans that have turned to McCray's trio for entertainment with the Mule's recent unfortunate absence from the music scene). McCray pierces through a charged take on Ain't That Lovin' You Baby with some powerful lead guitar. Jimmy Herring is still in the flow, working his magic into this song (there is a powerful section of three-way guitar dueling/exchanging), and the ensuing Don't Change Horses, the latter of which finds Edwin McCain returning to the stage.

However, the real jewel of this collection is the huge chunk of Gov't Mule's set on disc two. As the CD is from Allen Woody's final Warren Christmas jam performance, it is appropriate that the disc is dedicated to him. Woody is well represented, as he was in fine form for the entire performance.

Although it is surprising that a fine version of It Hurts Me Too was left off the disc, what we do get is quite solid. Those who were in attendance (like myself) on this evening may get thrown off when the Mule's introduction cuts to the band's third song , Bad Little Doggie The band charges through this, with Warren throwing in little bursts of chords, and Woody stepping up for his patented rock walks (walking bass lines in a rock style). It is a strong, but unspectacular version, but hot on its heels is an outstanding version of Lay Your Burden Down, another track from what was - at the time - the band's forthcoming CD, "Life Before Insanity".

Here, the Mule's set takes off, never letting down until the show's end.

Johnny Neel joins, and the band combines breathtaking subtlety with asshole-tearing energy to offer a powerful, dynamic musical ride. Neel's keys are smartly placed, understated, and a perfect fit for this number. If you listen closely late in the song, you can also hear him lend a couple of high, gently wailing vocals.

In light of what this band has gone through in the year plus since this performance, the poignancy of Lay Your Burden Down and the Fallen Down that ensues goes without saying. There is a spooky prelude from which the opening chords of Fallen Down arise gently. Johnny Neel's organ lends a stately nature, and Warren's achingly soulful lead vocal provides depth. Haynes also delivers two short, but very strong lead guitar parts. But, like Burden, it is the juxtaposition of note-perfect delicate parts with the considerable brawn that make these two songs such a moving audible journey.

Jimmy Herring returns for a stomping (if somewhat predictable) rendition of a song that Haynes wrote, reportedly with Herring's guitar in mind, Devil Likes It Slow (from Gov't Mule's "With A Little Help From My Friends" CD). Reminiscent of the jazz standard Duke's Place in theme, this particular song leaps into territory not even approached by Ellington. Herring wastes no time diving in and shredding with a jaw-dropping solo. Herring has an uncanny ability to rifle out notes at breakneck speed without losing his ability to offer a soulful feel. Haynes takes over during the slower, jazzier section, first courting elegant runs, but then conjures up a storm of notes of his own, prodded on by the masterful drums of Matt Abts.

Colonel Bruce Hampton, Yonrico Scott (although he is not listed in the liner notes) and a guitarist named Mike Barnes join the mix for a loose, fun take on Willie Dixon's Spoonful. The lively blues-based guitaring continues, with plenty of mini-duels, interplay, and even some moments of dissonant guitar. The outro features some sweet Neel keyboard work, punctuated by some smart Woody/Abts interplay, which leads into a riveting Haynes slide guitar lead. The song's conclusion is punctuated by some classic Herring space alien sounds.

The final two songs include the guitar and vocals of a undisputed living blues legend, Little Milton. Gov't Mule performed on two tracks on Milton's 1999 release on Malaco Records, "Welcome To Little Milton". When The Blues Come Knockin' is one of those songs. The band offers a charged version on this release, and though the liner notes do not mention it, Yonrico Scott once again adds percussive flavor. Milton and Haynes offer invigorating lead vocals. You can hear how happy these two musicians are performing together. Milton's Chicago blues style comes through clearly on the track, and you can hear Haynes referencing this as well; clearly in deference to the legend that had come a long way to be at Warren's party. Jimmy Herring is also present on the track, but he lays back most of the time, also out of respect to Milton.

The final track is a guitar-lover's dream, as Milton, Herring, Tedeschi, Trucks, and Haynes all lend their guitars to a powerful reading of one of the greatest Christmas songs ever, Charles Brown's Merry Christmas Baby. Yonrico Scott and Paul Riddle (Marshall Tucker Band) join the rhythm section, while Matt Abts sits out (the personnel changes, again, not included on the liner notes). Tedeschi also lends a gorgeous vocal to the second verse. Her fans must hear her performance with Little Milton on this track. The guitar work on this 15+ minute version of MCB is considerably beyond description, it simply needs to be heard. Milton even regales in some Zambi fun, clicking out some quiet, way high on the neck guitar exchanges, and engaging Herring in some inflammatory guitar wailing, creating a wave that the whole large ensemble jumps into. Yummy.

One of my most vivid memories of the show is during one of Derek Trucks' solos on this song, I watched Little Milton alternate between gazing over Derek's shoulder and shooting looks of amazement at Haynes. Milton was making it clear that he was impressed.

Back in the 80's, some people derided Bobby McFerrin as too cutesy. However, I saw him live twice back then and, perhaps because I first encountered him this way rather than on record, I found him charming as well as insanely talented. I was pleased when he scored a hit with Don't Worry, Be Happy. However, unless I'm missing something, not many people talk about McFerrin's ongoing musical accomplishments these days. Perhaps the cute thing was a bit too much.

Keller Williams strikes me as a guitar-playing, hippie-friendly equivalent of Bobby McFerrin. He has an amazing command over his 12-string guitar (although many of his tricks derive from Leo Kottke and Michael Hedges), and he's an equally capable singer. However, once I get past the promising opening instrumental Thin Mint and Williams starts singing, I find the disc detours towards cuteness.

His vocal numbers, unlike the instrumentals, are hard to trace to specific influences. They sound a bit like a cross between Dave Matthews and a bubbly, apolitical Ani DiFranco. Some bits are genuinely clever, like the Deep Elem Blues rip in Kidney In A Cooler. Perhaps if I had seen this material live, it would have won me over more easily, as McFerrin did. After a series of funk numbers, Landlord hints at seriousness. However, William's beatboxing, as well as his wispy voice, alter the mood. Still, judging by the audience reactions on this concert disc, it must have played well to his crowd. In addition, this disc gets high marks for production - the seamless edits between different dates are impressive, and the audience is present but never intrusive.

"Most of my words are meant just for today," Trey Anastasio and Tom Marshall sing on Name, a country ballad off of "Trampled By Lambs and Pecked By The Dove", "and there's limited truth in the things that I say." Recorded over a series of weekends in 1997 at rented farmhouses throughout rural Vermont, the album is as intimate and sloppy as a journal entry transcribing a bleary-eyed five am high school conversation in which the secrets of the universe seemed to make themselves manifest.

The journal entry came after a long night; we were driving around, lingering over cigarettes and coffee. We stopped at the diner and sat on the stoop outside. Mostly, we were in my living room. Whatever we were doing, we were doing first. We stayed up all night talking, rapping, babbling, and uncovering truths. I wanted to go running into the night streets to tell people about it. There'd be absolutely no way to convey any of it to someone else, of course. I'd have to shove scribbled placemats and napkins upon an innocent, strap him down and make him listen to a couple boxes of tapes and CDs.

But there was nobody else to listen us besides ourselves. It was all I could do to write it down, to try to get a bit of it on paper and maybe, just maybe, it would make sense later. But, for those moments, we were in a safety zone. There was something so completely right about it, whether or not it held up to objective scrutiny in the outside world. Like those journal entries, there's limited truth in the songs here. What's there is gorgeous: some of it doesn't make sense in the morning, some of it is misguided but right-headed, and some is absolutely perfect in its own way.

There are still nights like that every now and again. "Wow," I remark. "This is just like high school" and get a similar feeling, where everything is filled with a profound kind of instinctual intellectual newness. The older I get, the more inclined I am to nip one of those nights in the bud ("nah, I probably shouldn't go out for that drive now, I need to get to sleep"), though I shouldn't. There's a beautiful logic in their thinking. The older I get, the more meaningful and mature those nights get. Anastasio and Marshall - choose a word: indulged, engaged, executed, remembered - in these, escaping from the groove heavy, arena rock confines of 1997 Phish.

Wading In The Velvet Sea was a wonderful idea. And it might be best song "Trampled By Lambs...", but one would never know that from Phish's rendition which, while bordering on sublime at times, is generally suited to the temptations of an arena. Simply put, Velvet Sea didn't make sense the next morning. Thankfully, the original idea was captured. Here, the song is presented in its original, two-minute form (most of the songs don't exceed this length), bolstered by a shimmering xylophone-like keyboard part. While the version is, in intention, a demo, it is also more complete than any other version of the song. The same can be said for the version of Water In The Sky presented here.

Someone once suggested that improvisation - jamming or straight-up soloing - exists because there's something incomplete, insufficient, about the melody of the song it's attached to, something that can only be resolved with further extrapolation. The implication is that a truly finished song needs no jam. This album can be used as an argument for either side. In the compact camp are things like Velvet Sea, Driver, Blue and Shiny, Never, Sleep, and others. On the opposite side is something like Ghost, which sounds painfully vacuous in this context.

It should be noted, then, that Phish has always had trouble playing the former group of songs live, whole Ghost feels natural and correct. Ghost is a note of practical interest -- uninteresting in its rudimentary state, but primed to be derived into something more involved. The thesis one might reach is that brilliant Trey/Tom songs make for shitty Phish songs while subpar Trey/Tom songs make for enthralling pieces of Phish music. "Trampled By Lambs..." is uneven listening, precisely because it shifts back and forth between complete and unfinished songs. For that exact reason, it's awfully hard to find fault with anything here. There are two albums on this disc. One is made of small gems like Velvet Sea and Blue and Shiny, and one is made up of unrealized historical curiosities like Ghost and Twist.

After all, if a song is already complete when Trey and Tom record it, what good can Phish do to it? And here we are at that fundamental split between bands who focus on improvisation and bands that don't. In some ways it comes down to the spirit of the playing: if a version of a song on "Trampled By Lambs..." is a journal entry describing a conversation, then the same song played live by Phish is the conversation itself. One evokes the memory of an experience and one is the experience itself.

Playing the former in the context of the latter is a risky proposition. Phish themselves seem to have reached this conclusion as well, perhaps unconsciously, by playing many of the complete songs so rarely that they might as well be dropped (Sleep, Never, Olivia's Pool, Vultures, and others). They had nothing to prove or accomplish by playing them. But the former... the former is gorgeous.

The first thing apparent is that here is that this is one CD that I don't feel I need to introduce, or push the artist any way (not that I usually do too much of that as a rule, anyway). Since its inception in 1976, the Jerry Garcia Band has enjoyed a name recognition far beyond most solo efforts by members of successful bands. Let's face it, you're just not going to get the same quizzical look from Aunt Edna when you mention the Jerry Garcia Band as you are for, let's say... Pork Tornado. What does all that have to do with the price of a soft pretzel at the Providence Civic Center?! I think it all depends on the amount of songs is the first set, really.

Garcia always had solo projects going on the side where he could call the shots and blow off some steam, as it were. Not that he was any lock-step band leader to begin with, but there had to have been a certain amount of musical frustration to surrendering to the loose-knit style typical of the Grateful Dead. Sometimes I think he preferred to play certain songs over and over in an effort to feel them out and experiment with them, using the gigs as his personal practice/jam session. Anyone who experienced the Dead's Day Job years (specifically 1984 and 1985) can vouch for that one.

The years surrounding this show were to be some of Jerry Garcia's most experimental and productive. Some of the various pots he had his hands in have been celebrated with releases for years. Aside from some of the Dead's more experimental stuff, such as "Blues for Allah", there are also such projects as the jazz fusion release by Garcia and Howard Wales called "Hooteroll?". "Fire Up" has been out for years under the guise of "Merl Saunders and Friends", where some of those friends just happened to be Jerry Garcia on guitar, as well as John Kahn on bass. Kahn is not only the bass player on "Don't Let Go", but was the only other constant member of the various Garcia solo projects, other than Garcia himself. It's fairly well known that Garcia had a special place in his heart for his bass players. He was once quoted as saying (and I'm paraphrasing here, I don't have the exact quote handy) that when Phil Lesh was on, the Grateful Dead were on. And the same went for John Kahn: a guy who, while reserved as a person, set the backbone for some highly celebrated music, revered by people in all walks of life. Whether it was the bluegrass "Old and In The Way", the Saunders and Garcia ensemble (notably the "Keystone" releases), or any of the Jerry Garcia Band albums, Kahn (aka Marmaduke) was a constant and trusted sidekick, until both his and Garcia's untimely deaths in the mid 1990's. Kahn sets the tone on many of the cuts here. The smoothly fluid sound of his bass makes such tunes as That's What Love Will Make You Do, and the title track, special treats with a groove that is all him. He never seemed to miss a beat, a trait that can't be said for all members of the rhythm section, and one that kept him in musical favor for years to come.

Speaking of the rhythm section, one can't leave out the drummer. While the Grateful Dead almost always had a certain excess in the rhythm section, the Jerry Garcia Band always stayed low key in that area. However, Jerry never seemed willing to sacrifice quality. Whether it was the simple and precise "Bill the Drummer" - the Dead's original and timely rock and roll drummer Billy Kreutzmann - or the other Bill on drums - Bill Vitt, who also played on the aforementioned "Keystone" dates - Garcia's solo efforts have always enjoyed drummers with timing that leans towards the precise. It is in this respect that we are treated to another such artist, Ron Tutt. Tutt's impeccable timing and laid back style blended in perfectly when the JGB was enjoying a slower, yet jazzier sound.

While discussing personnel, it is important to mention here that the remaining members of the band are quite well-known to most Deadheads: than the husband/wife team of Keith and Donna Jean Godchaux, on piano and vocals respectively. While you are bound to get mixed reviews from fans of the Dead as to the Godchauxs' influence on the Dead's sound during this transitional period, most would probably agree that when it came to the Garcia Band, the fit was nearly seamless. Jerry enjoyed some fantastic female voices to backup his unique jazz/rock/gospel sound. In later years it would become a constant to the JGB sound. Here we are treated to it on higher level. While not only singing backup, Donna Jean lets loose on one by herself on Strange Man, belting out the bluesy lyrics like no one else could. There is also a version here of Lonesome And a Long Way From Home -- previously released by the Heart of Gold Band, which contained both of the post-Dead Godchauxs and a guest appearance or two by Mr. Garcia as well.

So, what about the guy whose name is on the cover, you are probably asking? Chances are you know who he is. But, when was the last time you heard anything from this particularly creative period enjoyed by this incredibly prolific artist? If so, how about something that has been painstakingly remixed by caring sound masters in what can only be described as a labor of love? For that matter: if you knew that someone was allowed access to such a vast recording library and ended up picking this particular show/recording, wouldn't you at least be curious as to why? And, you should take into consideration that aside from his biggest paying gig, and the numerous other side projects and the innumerable guest appearances during this period, that this was the music he played when it was completely his choice to do so. If you were to take all of that under advisement, and still are not sure as to whether or not you want to get this CD, let me also mention the music itself: this recording is from a concert at San Francisco's Orpheum Theatre on May 21, 1976, from a series of shows and multi-night stands where the sound was refined over many nights, the songs honed to an open-ended precision. The CD itself also contains some fantastic photos of a long ago Jerry: slim and happy, with barely a hint of gray, doing what he loved to do most, with the people he chose to be doing it with.

I was never a fan of the Houseman. When the Houseman made his entrance during a Galactic show, I made my exit. Shoved my way to the restroom. Stepped outside to shake off some sweat. Grabbed another beer. Wandered around on the patio. Talked to that girl I knew in 4th grade and didn't like then either, anything but stay and watch the Houseman strut, preen and growl. On listening to "The Houseman Cometh", his first solo release, I have to wonder what I missed those nights.

"The Houseman Cometh" catches a man catching his stride. Houseman's whiskey-smoked pipes ride atop these thirteen tracks with an earthy strain that is, above all, human. The Houseman has a voice that can freeze you on the spot, set you in motion, close your eyes, open them wide, stop you mid-sentence, start you babblin', make you drop your drink, set you grinnin', or snap your heart strings. From the horn heavy roll of Pocket Change to the bouncy social protest of Ain't No Yachts In the Ghetto to the road weary swagger of Battlin' the Blues, the Houseman proves that he has ridden the rough rails and emerged scathed, scratched and scarred but intact. de'Clouet ambles from the party to the street to the gutter effortlessly, from Bourbon Street swaggers to Deep South soul confessionals. Like New Orleans itself, Houseman breaks musical classifications down and tosses them all into his cauldron to bubble up his own distinctive concoction.

Though it is always solidly funky, the instrumentation rarely matches the grittiness of the Houseman himself. Leading a cast of New Orleans' finest, bassist Cornell Williams roots the grooves while June Yamagishi's guitars add the texture to a sound that is always smooth but rarely remarkable. Henry Butler's acoustic piano work on Pocket Change is a notable exception, and his dance up and down the board makes this cut one of the album's true highlights. The boys from Galactic join in admirably for the grind of I Get Lifted, by far the heaviest groove on the album, and Ready, Willin' and Able, a punchy number highlighted by Rich Vogel's acoustic piano solo. While the majority of the album's instrumentation is steady and decidedly New Orleans, some cuts drift into soft spots that conjure the spaced-out and soul-less sounds of '80's funk, and there are a few lurking Chuck Mangione chord progressions that detract from the gravelly timbre of Theryl's voice.

Perhaps the most telling fact is that the album's best track is also its most spare. When June Yamagishi's acoustic guitar and Stanton Moore's pandera alone complement Theryl on the closer, If That's What It Takes, the battered beauty of his voice shines brightest. This album flounders when Houseman sings over the instrumentation, and it thrives when the music is geared explicitly to complement him.

"They Live" is the Wise Monkey Orchestra's first full-length album under Lauan Records . The jamband sampler discs that this label has released so far have been a positive for fans, bands, and the music scene nationwide. Wise Monkey Orchestra hails from the southern part of California, down in San Diego. Not surprisingly, their sound includes a fair dosage of Latin flavor, but is balanced out well by a funky horn section. The album's title serves as a clever play-on-words, as each track is taken from one of their live shows in the winter and spring of 2000.

WMO seems like they have picked some staples from their live rotation for the core of the music on "They Live". Five of the ten tracks are over six minutes in length, and that includes a three-song segment that flows together without stops. The tracks picked for the album are also accented by several special guests, most notably Dave Ellis on saxophone. The Ratdog and Charlie Hunter Trio alum plays on five of the tracks on the album, adding quite a bit to the overall effect. Robbie Helm blows sax on two of the other tracks, to compliment the trombone and flute of full-time Monkey, Andy Geib.

Alley, described in the liner notes only by her first name, is by far the strongest presence on the album. She handles all of the vocals throughout, steering the monkey-ship into funky waters. At some points her voice is the main lead of the song, and the other musicians just play around her. Guitarist Marty Schwartz gets a few token solos here and there but seems mostly content to play rhythm and let the groove center around Alley's singing. Her vocals are set at high level in the mix, so she puts her own unique voiceprint on each song she sings.

The album starts off with a slow, lazy groove entitled Movin' Free. The band eases its way into the album, lighting a long fuse for the jams that are to follow. They use the first 90 seconds of the song to set the tone before Alley's vocals jump in. In the break down near the end of the first track, Andy Geib, the WMO trombone and flute maestro lays down some jazzy horn lines quickly supported by Ellis. SLM is a song that really shows off the Latin influence of the band. Schwartz employs a familiar guitar chord progression to match the entrancing beat Bruce Stodola creates on the drums. The horn players use this setup as their launching pad for some expressive blowing, weaving a jam that increases momentum throughout the course of the ten-minute track.

SLM along with Space and Brainchild are the three instrumentals on the album. The second two songs make up a three-song segment of music from one show in Ocean Beach, CA. Those tracks focus more on the brass players, as Andy Geib uses his flute to add an extra dimension to the WMO sound. The segment begins with the tune Hell Ain't For Me, which sounds more like a poem Alley reads along to the music than an actual song. The overall effect of the three-song combo is to give the band amble room to expand their groove and explore the jamming terrain.

Overall, "They Live" is a solid album for a band with lots of complimentary influences working together in concert. In a music scene with lots of instrumental funk and groove jazz bands fighting for notoriety, Alley's vocal presence gives Wise Monkey Orchestra something to differentiate themselves from the pack. Her vocals and Dave Ellis's guest sax throughout are what make this an album worth exploring. I would recommend it to any music fan that enjoys the combination of Latin, jazz, and funk jams entwined around a powerful female voice.

"One can read Blake and have read Milton, Shakespeare, I mean everything. He can be considered the anthologizer of British Literature. Talk about New Criticism at its finest; how Eliot despised his work remains a goddamn mystery to me." [Overheard at a recent literature seminar.] Resting between the nascent lines attempting to consciously separate musical idioms, the world's finest sonic creations exist. Such ineffable formations, while existing on their own grounds, cannot avoid the myths and symbols established around their nebulous core. Acts like God Speed You Black Emperor!, Isotope 217 and Elysian Fields - to name a select few - reside in such tumultuous and enigmatic environments, where Mahler, Bach and Stravinsky often coincide with Mazzy Star, John Coltrane, Radiohead and Jurassic 5. Their music cannot be given a new label, ushering in dialogic and literary analysis to comprehend their esoteric intellectual fortitude, for they construct work "within," not on a given musical paradigm's outer rim. However, by choosing such an interesting area of residence and metier the artwork contains vitality and depth, seemingly unrelated to their Foucaultvian established counterparts.

An exemplar: Club d'Elf, who not only practice within such hazy, inexplicable domains, but seemingly add an element of Bakhtin by including a multitude of effervescent, contemporary, psychologically germane voices. Club d'Elf consists of Mark Rivard and any cohorts who decide to embark with him into perilous sonic chimeras. Whether DJs (Logic or C), horn players (Tom Hall, Joe Maneri, Eric Hipp and Tom Halter), percussionists (Brahim Frigbane, Erik Kerr or Kenwood Dennard), guitar (Duke Levine, Ian Kennedy and Reeves Gabriel) and anything else (Dr. Didg, Mat Maneri, Roberto Cassan and Jere Faison) the music portends specific genres but sidesteps any compartmentalization. As the live two-CD set moves through varying electronic movements and reaches specific, mesmerizing crescendos, reggae, Latin, trance, jungle, Indian and Sephoric paradigms float through the musical maelstrom. Dictating which sounds establish a greater precedent and thus supplying the listener with a facile exegesis remains unattainable and even unsatisfying. Considering the multiple voices and sentiments all expressed by the given soloists becomes detrimental to the music's perseity. Calling the music electronica based on the New Deal-esque Left Hand of Clyde would alienate and conceivably obviate Joe Maneri's holy, Judaic worshipping on Intro/Beatbox: a devastating consequence.

Each disc contains musically pleasing tracks, despite their ineffable nature. On the whole album, two tracks will entrance the jamband front: Actual Smiles and Left Hand of Clyde; both on CD one. Actual Smiles yields some of DJ Logic's more intellectually timed samples and scratches. As the music bubbles along, similar to Miles Davis' In a Silent Way, Logic's turntable antics yield a reggae dub effect, thus forcing the Davis comparisons towards Lee "Scratch" Perry. Languid and sonically inebriating, Actual Smiles sounds like previous explorations, but remains unexplainable or even adequately understandable. Equally intriguing, Left Hand of Clyde starts off with a plausible New Deal hook, before becoming James Brown funky. After some quick and forceful guitar scratching by Duke Levine, Mark Rivard takes a bass solo, which leads into a enigmatic segment which sounds remarkably similar to KVHW's Samba, except Levine's guitar playing seems more precise and less soporific than the infamous Bay Area guitarist.

"As Above"'s unexplainable and neurotic nature can be somewhat understood given the process which instigated these recordings. According to the liner notes, Rivard asked certain people to show up at the Lizard Lounge, a venue so small that ideas of monitors and PAs are irrelevant. After assembling, the group simply played music and followed their capricious fancies. Everyone had to listen intently to their neighbor and reach a quick point of cohesion where rhythms and melodies became intuitive. Certain tracks, which were actually tabulated, still became skewed by the given company, as the two versions of Last Business (one dub-like, the other a jazz/hip-hop piece) readily prove. While certain music fans may buy the "As Above" based on Logic's inclusion, the album's 160 minutes worth of music becomes a compendium for the last fifty years of music. Meaning everything from John Zorn to Chemical Brothers to bebop to John Cage to King Sunny Ade sonically exists on "As Above," which blasphemously makes Club d'Elf a modern day William Blake.

In the early '80s Soulfarm (formerly Inasense) lead singer and guitarist C. Lanzbom studied with the "hippie rabbi" Shlomo Carlebach. Those years of study eventually led to the birth of Lanzbom's band when he met fellow singer Noah Chase. Carlebach's teaching helped Lanzbom blend middle-Eastern styles into his music which some have called "Kibbutz rock." Lanzbom's new solo album serves as a tribute to the late rabbi who helped him find his place.

Half the songs on the album are Carlebach originals with five others penned by Lanzbom. Lanzbom's compositions are obviously heavily inspired by Carlebach's work and teachings, and Lanzbom adds his own unique flair to them. Staying true to the title of the album, "Meditations," Lanzbom's makes you want to do just that. The songs bring to mind many descriptive words - soothing, healing, peaceful and therapeutic just to name a few - but I think the word that Lanzbom is most looking for to describe his music on this album would be spiritual.

Technically speaking this album is pretty much perfect. The recording brings to life all the intricacies and delicateness of Lanzbom's acoustic guitar playing. His style is so fluid and lifelike you can practically see it oozing out of your speakers. Complemented by a bass and a harp and a little violin and flute thrown in for good measure, Lanzbom creates beautiful music that will set your mind at ease. A Day Off makes you think of just that - a day off from your normal routine with nothing to do. Harachaman, the opening song on the album, starts off slowly and builds and builds with a flavorful solo by Lanzbom until returning at the end to the main theme.

"Meditations" brings to mind a more peaceful time many years ago as the middle-Eastern flavor is present throughout the entire album. While many people are familiar with Lanzbom's work with Soulfarm and Inasense, it is safe to say that those same people will find a place for this side of him as well. While most of the songs have a very arranged feel to them, there is a genuine spontaneity in the music that would appeal to even the most hard-nosed jamband fan.

As progeny of a well-oiled media machine, Dolly Parton's music often coincides with visions of a Southern beauty shop owner, a hell raising employee or Tabloid fodder regarding specific (and well outlined) appearance-based issues. Somewhere along the way, people forgot about Parton as a singer-songwriter, much to the world's detriment. While "Little Sparrow" probably will not obviate years of socially dictated imagery or banal banter/gossip, but - damn it - it should. Imagine the greatest bluegrass players (Jerry Douglas, Chris Thile, Stuart Duncan, Bryan Sutton, Dan Tyminski etc.), six well-crafted originals complemented by eight exceptionally chosen covers, all marked by Parton's "mountain angel" voice. "Little Sparrow" floats from the Appalachian Mountains and screams for attention in a dominion with ears perked by "O Brother Where Art Thou". As Parton postulates on the intemporal musical artform:

I am heading for bluer pastures
Where the bluegrass waves sweetly in my wings,
Where the bluegrass music is always playing
To the holy sound of Monroe's mandolin.

Parton's voice expands from the specified limits of several of the album's well-chosen covers, with the Collective Soul composition Shine being the finest exemplar. Harmonies abound, as Parton and her compatriots take a hard rock alternative track and make something not quite Monroe, akin to New Grass Revival. While Collective Soul may have written the changes and lyrics, Parton claims ownership and unlike many who cover songs, she makes the listener forget the original version. While Jerry Douglas's dobro playing is more prominently showcased later on the album, the listener can become fairly impressed by Douglas' intuitive, hard-edged playing which mirrors Collective Soul's hard-rock licks.

While Shine could be considered the biggest surprise on "Little Sparrow," Parton's version of Seven Bridges Road, thankfully, allows the listener to eradicate any memories regarding the Eagles' unimaginable destruction of Steve Young's classic country anthem. Commencing with a three-part vocal harmony, Parton's voice harmonizes exquisitely with Jerry Douglas' dobro. At the final chorus, the vocals and dobro accentuate each other, reaching a crescendo where all of the instrumentation except a loping banjo line fades away. Backed by the banjo, Parton emotionally sings:

There are stars in the southern sky,
Southward as you go,
There is moonlight lost in the trees,
Down the seven bridges road.

By the time Parton hits the last line, the whole band reenters, creating a spine tingling conclusion. Analysis of the section results in finding bare musicianship and rather banal harmonies, but somehow the mix - despite such a simplistic approach - works on more levels than can be articulated in words: the epitome of Appalachian music. Somehow, people forget the musical theories of "less is more" and the open beauties contained in the intimate confines of string bands.

For the most part, the talents of Chris Thile, Jerry Douglas and Stuart Duncan (three of the best soloists on their given instruments) are relatively subdued, until the jazz cover I Get a Kick Out of You. Opening with one of the greatest mandolin jazz runs, Thile reveals his virtuosity when given his spotlight. After Thile's stunning run, Douglas enters for an equally entrancing solo, which gives way to Stuart Duncan's Grappelli-esque turn. As the band swings, the listener hears music approximating Django Reinhardt's Hot Club Band of the 1930's and 1940's. The track is an enjoyable pinch of eclecticism, revealing Parton's enormous musical tastes and vocabulary.

"Little Sparrow" becomes the album where, with a listen, one can LEARN about Parton. With the Kenny Rogers duets and the tabloid notions far from the listener's mind, the album conspicuously outlines Parton's upbringing and her true musical loves. By entering into music so close to her upbringing, "Little Sparrow" has an overwhelming amount of sincerity and integrity; elements lost in all genres, whether country, rock, jamband, jazz or world music. And damn our society if "Little Sparrow" doesn't get heard.

A close friend of mine once defined the word "seminal" in the context of rock music as "something hugely influential that nobody has actually heard". "Metal Machine Music", recorded and released by Lou Reed in 1975 and reissued last year by Buddha Records, is seminal. Thanks to this and the canonization of Lester Bangs ("the Greatest Rock Album Ever Made", c. 1976), many listeners - myself included - are being turned onto the disc.

Nothing could have prepared me for "Metal Machine Music". Nothing. Not John Zorn, Glenn Branca, Sonic Youth, Sun Ra, Miles Davis, or any other noise merchant who's come before or since; not even forcing myself to stand in front of a large amplifier with a guitar shoved up to the nose of the cabinet and the volume cranked. This album is feedback; skull penetrating and brutally ambient, deeper and darker than anything else I've heard. Listening to it borders on the mystical. And if you think that's bullshit, I dare you to listen to the whole album straight through at top volume.

Or any volume, for that matter.

It's almost 3 am. I'm listening to "Metal Machine Music" and, as usual, I've lost any objective sense of how loud it is. At times, it feels like a dead-on roar, almost deafening. When I reach to turn the volume down, I discover that's it already set on low, but the noise has permeated so intensely that it's created the illusion of loudness. In other places, I reach to turn the knob up, and find that I've already hit the top: fluid walls of sound shaped with such delicate precision that they curve seamlessly into the ceiling and back onto themselves, like the edge of the universe.

This is the sound of shimmering sound, and the sound of this night, or tomorrow, or the night after that, or any other night I deem fit to listen to the album; a soundtrack. Being so abstract (despite Reed's predilection towards "realism" in the liner notes), the album is completely shaped by the night itself: sculpting the mood of the night, and the mood of the night mutating my listening experience -- a feedback loop.

In interviews when the album came out, a sunken-eyed Reed claimed that there were a myriad of melodies - snatches of classical music, figures and themes proliferating and expiring - buried in the waves of noise. Later, he admitted that this was a put-on, but I'll be damned if I can't hear 'em in there, rising fragments of the Rite of Spring or the Ride of the Valkeries. Maybe they're there, maybe they ain't. It doesn't matter. And if it's all there in the noise, then it's all there in the silence, too. Like figure and ground in a painting: the same information is embedded in each, it's just shown differently. I prefer the sound, because the silence is just too dastardly and loud.

Who does the silence belong to? It's not Reed's. On the original double-LP release, the silence at the end of the first three single-track sides could be infinite, the needle removing itself from the picture until the listener flipped sides. The CD hems in the potent sheets of concentrated anti-noise. Is it mine? At the end of the final side, the record had a locked groove built in, so that the needle would jump into a loop until the listener physically removed it from the disc. The CD just shuts itself down. No one bothered to lock the groove. Hell, I don't even know if such a thing is possible. I'd go at the disc with a razor, but I have no idea where the information lies. The silence is mine whether I like it or not.

Like I said, it's got everything, and - in a way - knows everything. Every story I'll ever tell is on this record somewhere: every love spurned, every love requited. It's shockingly debilitating to hear everything at once: my terrible crush crushed up next to the void of infinite death. Is it fair to equate something so innocent with something as heavy as that? As heavy as "MMM"? She's cute. And "MMM" is beautiful. She might be beautiful. I wouldn't know. I can't talk to her. But I can talk to "MMM", shout at it even. There's no guarantee that it'll hear me. It's probably too loud for that. Or maybe it's down to a whisper and listening intently to everything I'm saying.

Yes, I have a crush. She's an album. She's a short story. She's a song. She's a poem. She's a fragment of melody. She's a haiku. She's a breath. She's the two second gap between track marks on this album. That's all she is. She's the two loudest seconds of silence ever recorded, and she's absolutely incredible. She's an upshot of CD mastering: insane sound for 15 straight minutes and then - abruptly - silence; my insignificant crush blown to a monstrous volume and that's just too big, so I'll keep hitting "play" until I spin to sleep.

This is a splendid reissue. A 1972 release, this is a good document from a band everyone should know (with three unreleased bonus cuts and liner notes for the obsessives).

Equally importantly, it evoked some thoughts for this reviewer. NRBQ belongs to a significant but often-overlooked sidestream in rock, a set of bands making jazzy, eclectic music which also includes Spirit, Traffic, and Little Feat (among others). These bands are among the primary antecedents for the current generation of jambands, a set of predecessors which also includes, but certainly is not limited to, the Grateful Dead.

Like many of those bands, NRBQ's songs often feature humorous lyrics, because they're amusing guys, or, if you're less sympathetic, because they're more interested in playing than writing. If you're more interested in writing than playing, like many critics, you might object. If song titles like Howard Johnson's Got His Ho-jo Working and Who Put The Garlic In The Glue? put you off, it's likely that little else here will change your mind.

If you're like me, though, you'll enjoy the crafty music and the upbeat tone throughout. (The cover of Ac-cent-tchu-ate The Positive, interspersed with Cannonball Adderley's Things Are Getting Better, underscores the point.) The band pulls off a seamless mix of mid-Beatles pop (Only You), thorny rock (New Tune) and the occasional skewed jazz-rock instrumental (Tragic Magic). And they can play -- in particular, Terry Adams is one of the finest rock keyboardists ever. (If he hadn't been loyal to his group, he could have done a splendid job with the Dead.)

Unlike most of the bands mentioned above, NRBQ have been fortunate enough to survive through the years in basically the same form (with a few key personnel changes), but they have not achieved mass recognition. This disc demonstrates that this isn't for lack of ability.

"In Praise of Learning", like much of 1970s European art-rock group Henry Cow's output, is a well-reconstituted synthesis of elements both musical and non-musical. On this album, remastered since its original release in 1975, socialist poetry is inextricably woven together with bizarre time signatures, enhanced orchestration featuring trumpet, bassoon, bass clarinet, tape manipulation and electronics, and virtuoso solo and group performances. Because the music was written for and written in a bygone time, place, and mentality, both musically and extra-musically, the challenge for the contemporary listener is to discover how it relevant to life today.

On this album, the band is a marriage of Henry Cow with Slapp Happy: Tim Hodgkinson (Organ, Clarinet), Fred Frith (Guitar, Violin), John Greaves (Bass, Piano), Chris Cutler (Drums), Dagmar Krause (Voice), Peter Blegvad (Guitar, Voice, Clarinet), Anthony Moore (Piano, Electronics, Tapework), and Lindsay Cooper (Bassoon, Oboe).

The first track, War is a perfect introduction to the rest of the album. It is short, only two minutes, and the poetry and music are repetitive and memorable. There are some free sections as interludes between sections, exciting meter shifts and constantly evolving orchestrations. Dagmar Krause's unique voice and text delivery is the top layer on a bed of instruments and noise.

The rhapsodic Living in the Heart of the Beast has a sort of syllogistic musical form in which several episodes of different texts and music finally give way to a repeated conclusion at the end of the track's 16 minutes. The text in the earlier sections is almost in a Rock Recitative with nimble singing by Krause, her part impressively doubled by an instrument in the band. Some of the most intricate group and solo passages are found in here with several notable ones by Fred Frith.

The strongest song on the album is Frith and Cutler's Beautiful as the Moon Terrible as an Army with Banners. Once again, the quirks of style are softened by repetition, this time in verse/chorus format. Instrumental improvised solos in these tracks are kept to a minimum, since the primary focus is to set the text. There are, however, two non-vocal tracks, Beginning: Long March and Morning Star. March is an ambient soundscape with lots of percussion instruments, electronics and reed solos. Morning Star has more active music and synchronized starts and stops suggest at least some preplanned music.

For some listeners "In Praise of Learning" will have both musical and political resonance. For others is at least an exciting document of the worldviews of Henry Cow, Slapp Happy and - to some extent - all art rock of this time.

Bay-area guitarist Will Bernard first made a name for himself in the early '90s as a member of Peter Apfelbaum's Hieroglyphics Ensemble, a world beat big band of sorts. In 1994, he teamed up with Charlie Hunter to form T.J. Kirk, which recorded two discs of compositions by Thelonious Monk, James Brown and Rahsaan Roland Kirk. The guitar-based band's second disc, "If Four Was One," was nominated for a Grammy Award in 1997.

The Will Bernard 4-tet (rhymes with quartet when spoken aloud) began playing three years ago and Bernard made his debut as a leader with "Medicine Hat" for the Verve/Antilles label in 1998. The 4-tet has become Motherbug, a group that consists of Bernard, keyboardist Michael Bluestein, bassist Keith McArthur and drummer Jan Jackson. The change in name was a smart move not only because Bernard seems to be moving away from jazz but also because the latest disc sounds like that of a working unit rather than an impressive guitarist and his back-up band.

The ensemble playing pays off nicely. More often than not, Motherbug packs a solid punch with its brand of West Coast funk and soul grooves. The rhythm section of McArthur and Jackson provides the terra firma for Bernard and Bluestein to dance around. Both Bernard and Bluestein are clever and inspired soloists. On "Motherbug," however, no instrumentalist is more important than the other and the group sound is ultimately what makes the collection of material work.

The 10 instrumental tracks on "Motherbug" show Bernard to be a talented and quirky composer. The opening Motherbug Theme sets a tone for the disc with a funky bass line (that wouldn't sound out of place if sampled for a techno cut), spacey keyboard embellishments and clever shifts in tempo. Bernard has chops galore but much to his credit knows when to hold back for the good of the song. Like many great jazz players, Bernard seems to understand that what he doesn't play can be as important what he does play. He gives equal time to Bluestein on the second track, 100 Hundred Cha Chas, a seven-minute excursion that briefly examines everything from "Bitches Brew"-era fusion to Meters-style funk to modern pop-rock ala Smash Mouth. It's a wonderful example of the group's ability and willingness to go all over the map.

Pursuit of Happiness is a pleasant downshift into the slow blues. While almost anyone with the ability (current blues legends like Buddy Guy included) would turn this simple yet effective arrangement into a showcase of excess technicality and gimmickry, Bernard lays back and places his sparse notes perfectly. He uses such subtlety to create a mood rather than drown listeners in unending flurries of notes.

Mung Beans and Rice reveals a New Orleans funkiness that benefits from an understated horn section. Bluestein's organ sweeps and Jackson's second line beats indicate a Meters influence. Is there a funk band playing that doesn't owe a debt of gratitude to Neville, Porter, Nocentelli and Modeliste? The quality of playing is sustained throughout the disc but listeners' interest occasionally may wane. Outside of jazz, the instrumental format is a tough one and, like Galactic realized early on, even the most hardcore instrumentals benefit from having an occasional singer to mix things up.

After a 10-second answering machine interlude, Motherbone, Bernard and his band have a hard time convincing listeners that the remaining three tracks are going to offer anything that the previous six already haven't. Still, as instrumental discs go, Motherbug is strong and it wouldn't be surprising to see Bernard and Motherbug become an in-demand session group. The four high-caliber musicians create deep - and sometimes hypnotic - pockets. The term "groove" is thrown around as freely as "jamming" lately. It's nice to know that Bernard and his bandmates are among the minority that do the term justice.

I must confess that I didn't know a helluva lot about Nordic folk music when I first popped in this sampler. But from the jangly upbeat dances at the beginning, to the haunting electronica in the middle, to the pounding metal-infused ending, this fascinating and diverse collection firmly held my interest for all 78 of its minutes. In 22 tracks, the disc spans the breadth of the phenomenal Scandinavian folk scene. It is unfortunate that even world music aficionados often overlook Sweden, Norway, Finland and Denmark, and the NorthSide label is doing its best to change that.

What makes this album such a joy to listen to, even for someone with little experience with music from this region, is the sheer energy and immediacy which infuses all the tracks. This is not esoteric music to merely feed the brain, it is folk music to feed the heart. And nearly every song is meant to inspire dancing in a variety of meters be it folk dance, waltz, or spacey trance free-styling.

The musical style is predominantly fiddle based, often bearing resemblance to the more renowned music of the Celts. Flutes, accordions, and bagpipes are also featured prominently. The vocals, while sounding vaguely Irish (but with some wild Swedish diphthongs), are sometimes reminiscent of Bulgarian women's choirs like Les Mysteres des Voix Bulgares (on "My Wedding Day" by the Rosenberg 7) and even of Zap Mama's Afropean a cappella (the vocal acrobatics of Sanna Kurki-Suonio on Polska Release).

. While every track maintains a footing in Nordic folk music, the performers have not grown up isolated musically, and they're not afraid to let it show. Boot and Hedningarna, kick off the album with Wild Honey and Forest Maiden. Both are heavy on plucked and bowed strings which, along with some twangs of the Jew's harp, contain a hint of the American Midwest. Quick-stepping Celtic-sounding melodies are prominent on tracks by Swåp, Troka, and Väsen. When the drum machines creep in at track nine, the mood darkens considerably. The album takes a turn toward trance, exhibiting the spookier side of Scandinavian music with cuts from Garmarna, Sorten Muld and Annbjørg Lien. Wimme does a beautifully spacey, electronica-heavy number called Enchantment, his baritone moans complemented wonderfully by the bass clarinet. And you've gotta give him props for the vocal style: it's called "free yoik", a traditional Finnish style similar to Native American chanting.

Secret Tears by Loituma has much in common with a wistful Eastern European waltz. Particularly innovative, lively, classically-influenced arranging shimmers in Bäsk's Polonaise from Sexdraga. (I have also heard their entire self-titled album and can recommend it highly). The last two tracks prove that Swedes can let their hair down and rock up their folk music, too. Groupa throws electric organ, some innovative percussion and heavy bass under virtuosic flute and fiddle playing on Lavalek. And Hoven Droven (translation: "helter-skelter"), turns what might have been an otherwise unassuming fiddle tune into a wholly enjoyable and, amazingly, sonically coherent headbanger's delight.

The musicianship on every song is extremely high. None of the tracks have the rough imperfections of ethnomusicological field recordings. They are all clean, tight, well-rehearsed and impeccably arranged. And while the disc encompasses a wide range of styles, it manages also to maintain continuity the tracks logically flow from one to the other, making the album work as a whole and not merely as a sampler.

Not every piece is stellar. Two featuring the Kaasinen sisters are a bit too reminiscent of the victorious slow motion movie music of, say, Chariots of Fire. And I must confess that the more experimental fusions and rearrangements excite me more than the traditional cuts. But as a single label's sampler it is exceptionally strong, with no unlistenable songs and a great number of truly stunning ones. It is a must for fans of world music, particularly those interested in modern innovations on traditional styles. And certainly anyone who has allowed their conception of Swedish music for better or, presumably, worse to be defined by ABBA and Ace of Base owes it to themselves to check this disc out.

Santa Barbara's contribution to the jamband scene, Cool Water Canyon, offers their self-produced sophomore effort, "Far From Home," a 20 song, two-disc follow up to their self-titled 1998 debut. With a style rooted in roots rock, funk, and jazz echoing the Dead and other seminal bands, CWC has toured California and the west, gaining accolades as the UCSB students' choice as the best area band in 1998 and 2000. While I applaud the effort of this ambitious project, the youthful energy and reputation for inventive improvisation in their live show isn't effectively transmitted on this studio recording. There is definitely some good material swimming around here, but it's awash in subpar songs.

On disc one, Within The Walls (track 10!) is by far the standout track. This story of a longing prisoner has a funky groove and features definite theme and variation throughout the nearly eleven minute jam that approaches, but never reaches, the psychedelic realms. Lead guitarist/vocalist Drew Allen's "Jerry tone" rips through with a stereo warp and is punctuated by the stealthy rhythm of guitarist/vocalist Jesse Tyre-Karp. The two recently departed members of the band provide a solid platform -- Carter Beim's solid bass moves the groove along atop the steady rhythm of drummer Matt Grover. If anything, Otto Roeser's keyboards are conspicuously underutilized. Even though it makes for a strong ending to the first disc, this song jams and it's buried. Similarly, Even Though I'm Blue and Same Song, tracks six and eight respectively, are more energetic and enjoyable than the balance of the first disc - which is mostly lethargic - and would have made a far greater impression had they hit the ear earlier. The rootsy California - with slide guitar provided by guest Dan Lower - is an example of the bands versatility and is one of the better tracks on disc one.

Overall, disc two is the stronger of the two, beginning with Tyre-Karp's Good Enough. Unfortunately, this quickly subsides into another Allen lament on the theme of lost love. The Hardest Part, a "Shakedown"-era Dead-esque jam, and Allen's Empty Meadows (ala the Allmans' Blue Sky), are both easily better than half the tracks on the first disc. The collection ends positively with the title track, an upbeat Neil Young-ish bluesy number featuring far too little of an unidentified harmonica player.

In the spirit of honest constructive criticism, I think "Far From Home" should have been called "Not Far From Home". While the disc is somewhat above average from a production standpoint (with the exception of underemphasized keyboards and some studio sterility), and doesn't suffer from a lack of basic musical ability, many of the songs are too derivative, too safe, too formulaic, and - at times - too Prozac. Grover's beat seemingly never changes, the tempo rarely rising above lethargic until the last song of the first disc, which is the only glimpse into the band's improvisational ability.

Several of Allen's lyrics/songs skirt the boundary between the merely average and the truly trite, and when combined with a vocal presentation lacking in urgency or even energy, simply turned me off to the CD. Had this been a single disc featuring the stronger material front-loaded, my opinion may have been considerably different. In 2001, did CWC really need to include another painful rehash like Makin' Love, (which is the second song on the first disc), the annoying Caught Red Handed, or the '50s prom sway of Fair Weather Skies -- all containing out of context and largely superficial unidentified female backing vocalists? Undoubtedly, Tyre-Karp's songwriting and lyrics are stronger, and even though his voice occasionally grates, he is at least singing with fervency and conviction and, furthur, doesn't dwell on the pervasive themes of heartache and longing.

The members of Cool Water Canyon show versatility and ability on "Far From Home," but don't wander nearly far enough away from the safe haven of their California roots. While there are shining moments in solid songs spread throughout this two disc set, the luster is overshadowed by too many average inclusions, and fails to live up to the band's reputation for energetic, exploratory performances. Nevertheless, Cool Water Canyon has a promising base to work from, a diversity of influences and their fans will certainly want to grab this collection. However, for other jam fans, a truly live introduction may be a better investment.

The self-produced and released sophomore effort from this guitar (Elliot Page), bass (Ben Thibault), and drums (Dan Gullotti) trio seems to have been considered quite a wonder by the media in their home town of Boston, but a few listens to the album left me in disagreement with those critics. The disc bounces between poppy vocals to attempts at a jazz stylings to progressive rock with wild abandon and never seems to find a center that melds everything cohesively.

The opening track (Best Day) starts with an annoying sample of an excited woman's voice, followed by the innocuous opening chords of the song -- none of which prepared me for I feel ultimately derails the album, its vocals. It sounds to me as though all three are singing about half an octave above their vocal ranges, producing a strained three part harmony/interplay.

The album's first bright spot appears during the guitar solo in the second track,Satisfied), during which the trio proves that they're actually talented players. Indeed, the group is at their best when they just play. The fourth track (Message Machine) features some very good playing that features decent interplay between the three and has a driving pulse. The overall sound reminds me of the Yes album "Fragile", but with a jazzier edge and a bit more of a pop attitude. Thibault is especially active throughout the track and lends a nice feel to the groove.

The problem is furthered by the lyrics which I found to be somewhat simplistic without being catchy or witty. On occasion I found this to spill over into the music, as in the 8th track Leave which plods along as though waist-deep and sinking in a bog. Some will think that I'm talking about the intro to the song when I say plods (it slows down), but what I mean is that the guitar effects and snappy production can't save the results. By contrast the best track is the instrumental Maceo which has a jazz/funk groove.

In assessing this release I would say that if you're looking for good jazz jams there are certainly better places to go, and that if it's the funky element that interests you then better tunes can be found elsewhere. The band's prog-rock leanings have them playing fast, complex basslines and some breaks that just kill the groove. On the whole, I'm tempted to say "a jazzier, more musically proficient version of Guster". Take that for what you will.

What little I have been able to find out about Laura Scarborough is intriguing. She has been playing the piano since the age of six, and has a virtually untapped songwriting talent that only just shows its face here on her first, self-produced release. Being from New Hampshire myself, I can't say as though I had heard of her before receiving her disc, as she is from the Austin, Texas area, where she is keeping a low profile on the coffee house/local club scene.

There is little doubt that Laura has a flair for the captivating side of jazz. Using a softer, elegant sound, she conjures up memories of a smoky club, stage adorned by a slinky singer, oozing herself across the platform and grand piano-top. Mix that with a technological edge that she is unafraid to dabble with, and you start to get closer to the sound -- kind of like Portishead at a Billie Holiday tribute gig. While she is quite adept on keyboard, I'm particularly fond of the sound she coaxes out of the Rhodes, most notably during the cut this or that. She is able to pull off that spooky kind of sound and carry on a good jam at the same time. Laura also mixes a little culture into the surreal, such as the techno-laced dreamscape waltz where she twists things up a bit with drummer Earl Harvin. While the album is definitely a solo effort, there is much to be said for the sound gained by allowing other artists to donate to your work.

What stands out most about the CD itself is that, while obviously self-produced all the way down to liner notes, no details are left unexploited. From the glued on rubies along the spine of the jewel case, to the heavy parchment insert portraying Laura in a seductive pose - adorned with a quote from Beethoven: "Music is the electrical soil which the spirit lives, thinks, and invents" - nothing goes unattended. The same seems to hold true in her music. Mostly melodic and meditative, there always seems to be something going on, something probing out... searching. Whether by her hauntingly precise voice, hands on the keyboard, or even in packaging the disc itself, Laura always seems to be ready to create something new.

"Freedom Swing" is a the first release by the Tyler Ramsey Trio. The album showcases the trio of bass, drums, and keys, and their wide array of styles. From the opening track - the groove-oriented Car Chase in Capitol City featuring funky keys and flowing bass line - to the smooth flowing jazz of the closing track, What Solitude May Bring, TRT display not only their chops, but also Tyler Ramsey's songwriting ability. The production is also outstanding, each instrument well mixed and coming through clearly. You can hear each aspect of each player's own style.

Although a short album - only seven tracks - they manage to make each piece a standout composition and performance. Each track has several different movements that flow together, providing excellent jazz compositions that have definite room for coloration in the live format. The creative use of all of Ramsey's skills - on piano, clavinet, Hammond organ, fender Rhodes, and Micromoog - give each song a defining personality.

Though I'd consider most tracks on this album to be excellent, particularly good are the aforementioned Car Chase in Capitol City, as well as the interesting Science Fiction Marathon and Bumshoe.

Car Chase... is a quick adventure through what the band has to offer: Ramsey's quick work on the keys, Jay Hoots' steady moving backbeat with creative fills, as well as Garth Cuthbert's potentially explosive work on the fretless bass. The band makes it way through a seemingly simple riff, and has their way with it, moving from a clavinet based intro to some mean fretless bass work, down low, and back up to a strong finish.

Both Science Fiction Marathon and Bumshoe feature something not too common to most bands with keys (at least that I've heard): the Micromoog. Science features a playful line, doubled on the Moog and Clavinet, with a gentle roaming bassline in the background -- a definite jazz-based song if I've ever heard one. The middle section features Fender Rhodes and Micromoog layering which, although somewhat simple, is unique. The groove held down by Hoots and Cuthbert make the keys float freely over the background. The song resolves back to the playful intro.

Bumshoe, much like Science, uses the Micromoog to create a playful riff for the band to explore. Bumshoe explores more of the capabilities of the Micromoog as a lead instrument. Although an abstract instrument, the Moog fits in well with the hopping bassline. The Rhodes comes in and, at that point, the backing bass and drums start to make their presence known, while Cuthbert expands and lets loose on the bassline. Following this is a smooth little solo for Hoots, which leads to a completely new section. Another funky bassline leads this short section, flowing back into the opening to close out.

Overall, a solid release from the Tyler Ramsey Trio: an excellent display of the band's potential in the live setting.