Gomez, Gorillaz sweeten spring pot

By Matthew Bumb

Artist: Gorillaz
Title: G-Sides
Label: Virgin
DC Grade:C+

At long last, a compilation that may ring the death knell for an underwhelming puree of low-voltage hip-hop and glass-jaw electronica. Oh, the beyond-discussion hipness of this fantasyland fraud should be enough to chap anyone's animated wazoo. But this, sadly, is not our reality. Granted, they're B-sides (pardon, G-sides) put through a meat grinder of mixes and studio outtakes. As it happens, Gorillaz prove that golden rule: If you can do half-assed job at anything, then you're a one-eyed man in the kingdom of the blind

Alongside the gone-to-seed funk of "The Sounder," there's two footloose versions of current single "19-2000," both as useless as Radioshack salesmen. The ambient "Faust" and skull-rattling "Ghost Train," despite their storm-cloud rhythm, still fail to reassure us of Gorillaz's longevity. Here's to hoping it's an open casket.



Artist: Billy Bragg and The Blokes
Title: England, Half English
Label: Virgin
DC Grade:C+

It's been six years, though it might as well have been yesterday. Yes, after a six year absence - aside from his collaborations, the latest being with Wilco on Mermaid Avenue II - you'd expect Billy Bragg, the folk-punk-socialist living legend, to have learned a thing or two in the interim. Not so.

Accompanied by a jaunty backing band, Bragg navigates his battle-scarred lyrics into high-wire dirges of contrition ("Jane Allen," "Some Days I See The Point"), sappy eulogies ("Distant Shore," "Baby Faroukh"), and just plain smarmy yammering ("England, Half English," "NPWA"). The reggae-and-rock backdrops, however, add ballast, steadying Bragg's sledgehammer delivery and drip-feed intelligence. The eerie Dick Van Dyke-ish intonations - think Mary PoppinsÊon Valium - do not help.



Artist: Gomez
Title: In Our Gun
Label: Virgin
DC Grade:A-

Equal measure instrumental tinkering and synthetic be-bop, this, Gomez's third full-length album, recalls Tom Waits, Grateful Dead, latter-day James and spiritual doppelganger, Paul Butterfield Blues Band. But better. Seemingly, Gomez emerges from all eras without one stamp on their musical passport. If 1999's Liquid Skin tightened their arrangements, In Our Gun buries their subtle marauding under six-feet of layered sonic texture, only to be resurrected into something entirely original. This is nothing to sneeze at.

The ripsnorting "Shot Shot" shoplifts Dixieland horns and walks out of the store with a punishing bass line. And by the time the title track grinds to a halt, the lump-sum momentum could well have dislodged dentures. Barb-wire riffs abound, at least when Gomez isn't laminating together lurching techno and kitchen dub in, you guessed it, "Army Dub." Again, it's subtle. In Our Gun does have a general stacks-of-dishes feel; after further listening, certain throwaway songs will deepen like a coastal shelf. Headphones are a must.



Artist: Kylie Minogue
Title: Fever
Label: Capitol
DC Grade:C-

The word "love" is mentioned, purred, whispered and brought to climax approximately 159 times (give or take several kissing-cousins like "enjoy"). A fever of the crotch, perhaps? No matter.

Kylie, this slinky sexpot's adopted brand-name moniker, has sold over 30 million records internationally. More troubling is current hit single "Can't Get You Out Of My Head," which has catapulted Fever itself to 2 million-plus. A sickness of the world, perhaps? No matter. Of the 12 indistinguishable tracks, the Daft Punk-oidal virus is rife; without taxing the limits of charity, little more credit than juiced-up Atari muzak may be given. Here, indeed, mediocrity is its own punishment.

And Kylie wields her lack of charisma like a weapon: groove-tastic to a fault, her flesh-smacking Eurodisco makes for a rubdown of a record. (Coked-up lounge lizards and sunburned co-eds should RSVP today.) Come to think of it, the songs kind of plop out like nuggets from a well-fibered horse. Either way, don't forget to towel off.