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No Country For Old Men, the Coen Brother's latest cinematic offering, is no movie for the faint of heart. Marked by brutal violence, much like the Coens' 1996 Fargo, No Country For Old Men stalks our thoughts long after the movie ends.

Graphically gripping shots like the scuff marks on the floor following the first savage sequence often have more impact than the violent act itself. By the movie's end, what's not seen actually becomes more horrific than what is.

The pacing of the film is slow, steady, methodical. However, what seems plodding in the beginning, turns out to mirror our heartbeat and respiration as the storyline begins to unfold in the first few scenes.

Javier Bardem, as Anton Chigurh, is bone chilling as the stone cold killer with his own perverse code of ethics and a penchant for coin tosses. Josh Brolin gives the performance of his career as Llewelyn Moss, the anti-hero that we all root for against impossible odds. Sheriff Ed Tom Bell, played by a dry as a bone Tommy Lee Jones, and his deputy, Wendell, are the moral compass of the film and provide much needed comic relief. Kelly Macdonald, as Carla Jean Moss, adds a genuine, but quirky touch to her role as Llewelyn's wife.

Like all Coen Brothers films, No Country For Old Men makes a strong, visual and moral statement. It pushes the boundaries of drug related violence and explores the psyche of a pathological killer, then leaves us with an ending that is more disturbing than most of the violence leading up to it. The paradox of the killer still walking among us and Bell's strangely sweet dream of his father paving the way for him leave the viewers unsettled. Exactly what Joel and Ethan Coen intended.

It's not often you get your hands on a blueprint of a super group, especially not 40 years after the fact -- but that's exactly what you get with "Just Roll Tape," a demo of "new" songs laid down by Stephen Stills in a single recording session and "lost to the wind" for four decades!
On April 26, 1968, a post Buffalo Springfield Stephen Stills tagged along with then girlfriend Judy Collins to a New York recording session. When she finished, Stills peeled off a few hundreds and offered them to the engineer to roll tape. The 12 tracks laid down, with nothing but Stills' stirring, emotional voice and his acoustic guitar, are raw, powerful and familiar. The following fall, four of these tunes were featured on the first Crosby, Stills, and Nash album and five others made the cut on subsequent CSN (and sometimes Y) albums.
The original version of "Suite: Judy Blue Eyes" is amazing in it’s complexity, especially given the fact that a single musician recorded it without benefit of digital multi-tracks. "Helplessly Hoping" has a strong country edge and "Wooden Ships" is a completely polished, but very different song than the one released a year later. But it's "The Doctor Can See You Now" that really gives you that one-on-one-up-close-and-personal experience. You feel this one everywhere you can feel -- it's lyrically and spiritually tactile. If David Crosby is the vocal flash and Graham Nash is glue, "Just Roll Tape" is solid proof that Stephen Stills is the heart, soul and lyrical voice of Crosby, Stills and Nash.

The last time we heard from Iron and Wine in the LP format was in 2004, with the second album for Sam Beam and friends, Our Endless Numbered Days. That's not to say that they haven't been busy in those three years. In fact, Beam and co have released no less than three EPs since 2004, most notably Woman King and the Calexico collaboration, In the Reins. With each release, listeners have seen Beam's recordings gradually evolve from the humble bedroom recordings of The Creek Drank the Cradle. The Shepherd's Dog continues Iron and Wine's foray into full-band mode in every imaginable way; by adopting a diverse and eclectic approach to songwriting, incorporating a wide variety of instruments, adding smooth transitions between songs, giving the record a gorgeous, lush production effort and so on. However, the core of Iron and Wine is clearly still Sam Beam; his songwriting, hushed vocals and simple guitar work.

With the band's new approach to instrumentation also comes a new approach to songwriting, with Beam writing in less traditional pop song structures and moving towards more through-composed ideas. Sonically, The Shepherd's Dog is a much more percussive album, based far more on rhythm than either of the band's previous LPs. The bouncy opener "Pagan Angel and a Borrowed Car" focuses on an upbeat rhythm as its center while its followers "White Tooth Man" and "Lovesong of the Buzzard" are thick, almost tribal pieces. Certainly though, tracks such as the gorgeous "Carousel" (complete with rotary-style vocal effects) deviate from this template. Closer "Flightless Bird, American Mouth" makes use of waltz rhythms while "House By the Sea" takes the band into dreamlike territory with delayed loops and atmospheric keyboard sounds. Beam's lyrics come forward with their usual amount of rich imagery and are perfectly suited to the music he is creating.

The lyrics booklet that accompanies The Shepherd's Dog is designed in such a way that perfectly reflects the music contained on the disc. When held from afar, the lyrics simply look like a large (poster sized) jumbled mess; but closer examination is soon rewarding. In much the same way, the music contained on The Shepherd's Dog is layered and seemingly messy at first, especially compared to the immediacy of earlier work. For anyone willing to give it a fair shot, however, it's hard to imagine the album being a disappointment. Once and for all, The Shepherd's Dog proves that Beam is worthy of the attention that he is given and actually a brilliant musical mind rather than some guy who got lucky enough to make a great album in his bedroom.

I think we all, at one point or another, whether we knew what it was or not, have all seen the screaming face that adorns the cover of 'In the Court of the Crimson King.' This face, in many facets, describes the innovation, sound and intensity of this album. Crimson�s music is not to be taken lightly. Nearly all aspects of it are creative, whether it be the touches of mellotron added to the melody, or Robert Fripp's blistering guitar solos. This sole album, as King Crimson's very first, basically defined the genre of what we call "progressive rock." Ironically enough, the band has always denied allegations that they are slapped with the label. But on the contrary to what the band may think, this stunning five song, forty-five minute album is by all means, the true definition of the progressive rock genre. It's not exactly easy to pinpoint their music with two words, as their lyrics tend to focus on darker, creepy subjects, but the combination of classical instrumentation, as well as 7-minute plus suites, and interesting percussion, make this one of the most interesting, and well-respected albums of all time.

From the moment that the very first song, the staple of Crimson's catalogue, "21st Century Schizoid Man" hits you, you are in for a very intense and provocative listen. Between the heavy guitar riffs and eerie voice of Greg Lake (whom we all know to be the front man of later progressive icons, Emerson, Lake and Palmer),
"Schizoid" proves to be a very worthy intro tune. On the subject of dark lyrics, you'll get the jist of it when you hear Lake's voice combined with the words, Blood rack, barbed wire. Politician's funeral pyre." The combination of various woodwind instruments, mellotron, and distorted guitar carries the eerie ambience, but only before a 3 minute jam between the three. Lake, being a multi-talented musician, provides a creamy bassline, as well as an exotic staccato rhythm during the jam session. The waves of monstrous feedback from Fripp are just another benefiting factor, letting you know what is yet to be heard. As you may have noticed, Crimson is responsible for some very interesting sounds, as well as unique instrumentation and choice, for that matter. Therefore, it should not come as any surprise to you when you hear a wistful flute play a piece that depicts memories of the film "Fiddler on the Roof". For the entirety of "I Talk to the Wind", you will feel relaxed. The mellotron tastefully plays a few stray notes between lyrical phrases, but it�s Greg Lake's voice that welcomes me. As opposed to the previous song, where his voice was raspy, throaty with lots of attack, now his voice is soothing and subtle, taking you into a deep feeling of subconscious, as if you were floating. The most bombastic section is the flute solo, which is easy to connect to where Ian Anderson of Jethro Tull found his inspiration.

It is always necessary to have a powerful, yet slow paced song on a progressive album. What that song is about is not relevant, whether it be love or death, happiness or depression, rich or poor. The next piece showcases the latter of the many subjects, touching up on darker matters. But there is no precedent saying which you must choose, and that is what sets "Epitaph" apart from other ballads in the genre of rock music. Mellotron, as well as keys, and a rich orchestral string section, provide a tender foundation on which Lake�s voice soars above. His voice is easily one of the best in rock music. The highlight for me is undoubtedly the string etude, which provides a classical spin on a jazzy song. Fripp's acoustic work is utterly picture perfect, and everything just seems to be top notch before the song comes to a closing. Progressive music wouldn't be progressive music if it didn't have an ambient theme to it. "Moonchild" fills that gap, being an electronic and synth jam session. One thing that grabbed my attention was the cymbal hits during the verses. As stupid as it may sound, a mere three taps on a hi-hat could never have sounded more appropriate and attentive. Clocking in at merely 2:30, 'Moonchild' is nothing more but a relaxing, ambient interlude, taking you toward a nine-minute suite that will prove to be the epitome of the word "epic."

I'm guessing that a title track for this album would be quite a listen, and I was right. I'd expect a song that lasts nine-and-a-half minutes to have separate movements, and mood swings. Once again, that is the case for this title track. "In the Court of the Crimson King" is a medieval, epic movement that displays nothing more than sonic brilliance. Between the classical, finger-picked acoustic guitar, string arrangements, dark piano, choir etudes, flute solos, Greg Lake's soaring voice, and without a doubt, the best drumming on the album, "In the Court of the Crimson King" sprawls a melodic, yet heroic sound. The shift from lyrical verses to instrumental choruses is nothing short of uplifting, and the strings combined with the choir are brilliant and rich in sustain. The drumming is superb and rhythmically stunning. They really outdid themselves with this medieval suite. I�d like to ask yourself what you define as "epic." Chances are, that your definition is totally crushed by this song.

Those wanting hard rock and great guitar work will take a liking to the music of King Crimson. Those who like progressive music and enjoy in-depth arrangements will like it even more. My point is, you don't have to like only one aspect of a genre of music in order to enjoy King Crimson's music. Whatever suits your tastes will probably find a home on this album. Every bit of this album was brilliant, intense, and epic. And who knew all of that could happen within 45 minutes?

Tom Waits is widely considered a genius. While he hasn’t achieved any real mainstream recognition (his famous songs were mostly made famous by other people such as Rod Stewart), he can still be considered immensely popular. He has a cult following like few other singer/songwriters, due to his uncompromising creativity and charming personality, which is why he can released a 3-album, 3-hours collection of songs and expect people to buy it. The songs are a strange mix of new and old originals, spoken-word pieces, movie tunes, standards, cover songs, and even a poem put to music. In spite of this, Orphans is quite a coherent collection.

An interesting thing about the album is the division of styles. Usually, Tom Waits albums pull you every which way; as he furiously growls about demons and hell in one track, on the next sings a beautiful lament to his broken heart. This inconsistency in style has been prevalent on most Tom Waits album, and few of his albums have a truly defining sound (Although Alice mostly contains ballads, Kommeniezuspadt, and a few others to a lesser degree, completely interrupts the flow.) His albums are often confusing in their inconsistent style. Orphans, however, offers a defining sound on each disc. Brawlers are the bluesy, rockier tracks, Bawlers are the ballads, and Bastards are the crazy, experimental songs he is so (in)famous for. The division brings to mind Nick Cave’s Abattoir Blues/The Lyre of Orpheus which focused on his rock songs and ballads respectively.

This is of course to be taken loosely. A few songs could have fit on another disc, but the album titles describe pretty well what you’re in for. ‘Brawlers’ is, as previously mentioned, the straight-forward blues-tracks, subjected to Waits’ whisky-worn voice and unconventional percussion, including human beatboxing, something he began experimenting with on 2004’s “Real Gone”. This is mostly true, although a few stray pretty far from that narrow definition. The non-rhyming “Road to Peace” will no doubt stand out the very first time you listen to the album. Not just because it has great melody and instrumentation, which it does, but more because of the lyrical topic: It’s an unabashed anti-war song, addressing the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. Nothing is hidden in metaphors. Consider this:

“Now our president wants to be seen as a hero and he’s hungry for re-election.
But Bush is reluctant to risk his future in the fear of his political failures
So he plays chess at his desk and poses for the press
10,000 miles from the road to peace”

It’s not exactly subtle. This is not a critique though. “Road to Peace” is a remarkable song in the truest sense of the word. It’s extremely poignant and it seems genuinely honest, avoiding the clichés usually plaguing such political topics. Waits sings with as much conviction as ever, and “Road to Peace” is definitely one of the most moving songs he has written. While it of his career is not the sole highlight of the first disc, nothing stands out to the same degree. Worth mentioning, however, is another single “Bottom of the World”, a song about a traveller, who finds himself lost “at the bottom of the world”. It’s a mellow song, Tom’s rather harsh vocals aside. Some might notice the reference to Blood Money’s “All the World is Green”, in which Tom Waits sings, “He’s balancing a diamond / On a blade of grass”, a line which is repeated (although slightly altered) here.

This is not to say that the rockier tracks are not worthwhile. “Fish in the Jailhouse” is a furious, bluesy track, driven mainly by a harsh drum-beat. As the song progresses, the instrumentation builds up with a bluesy guitar and a saxophone. The sparse instrumentation directs the focus to Tom Waits’ singing, which recalls “Big Black Mariah” and “Sixteen Shells from a Thirty-Ought Six”.

“Bend down the Branches” immediately establishes the “Bawler” sound. It is a short, but beautiful ballad, serving as an introduction to the album. “Bawlers” is easily the most accessible of the three discs. It switches between heart-warming and heart-breaking ballads, reminiscing both early Tom Waits tunes and the darker sound of 2002’s Alice. The single from the album, “You Can Never Hold Back Spring”, is a gorgeous, optimistic ballad, “Never Let Go” a grandiose ode to love. Listen to Tom Waits proclaim, “You can send me to hell / But I’ll never let go of your hand”. It's one of the album's best moments. “Little Man”, is a jazzy, barroom ballad (composed by Teddy Edwards). All of them are fantastic songs. Highlights are abundant, and it’s hard to pick a truly defining moment on “Bawlers” (Put a gun to my head and I’d probably say “Never Let Go”). The song writing is incredibly strong throughout the 20 songs, and Bawlers, though it is also the longest, is the most cohesive and solid of the three albums.

However, “Bastards” isn’t meant to be consistent. Spoken-word tracks are plentiful, and each song sounds different from the next, though Tom’s signature demonic growl is prevalent in most tracks on the album. The very first track “What Keeps Mankind Alive” isn’t even a Waits original, but remains one of the best songs the “bastard” side of Tom Waits has ever recorded. The songs sound like the wildest songs from Mule Variations and Bone Machine. A spoken-word piece, "Children's Story", is a twisted bed-time story about a child who's all alone in the world. Also worth noting is Tom’s reading of “Nirvana” the Bukowski poem. It’s a wonderful track and although that should mainly be attributed to Bukowski, Tom Waits’ expressive voice suits the poem perfectly. One of the wildest tracks on the album, “King Kong”, is driven by a human beat-box and a roar rivalling the King itself. No song uses Tom Waits’ beat-box experimentations better than this. Closing the album are two unlisted skits, showing off his offbeat sense of humour, ensuring that “Orphans” covers every aspect of his personality.

Although covers appear frequently on the three-disc collection, you wouldn’t notice if you hadn’t heard them before. Tom makes the songs his own, and nothing here really sounds out of place. He is one of the rare old artists who isn’t past his prime and continues to rival his best work with new releases. Few of his albums show the diversity of his song writing and vocals as well as this. “Orphans” is essential for Tom Waits fans, as perhaps his career’s best demonstration of his creative persona. 54-tracks might be a bit much for someone just beginning the journey through Waits’ catalogue, but Orphans should be one of the first stops along the way.

The odds of an album like Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band being released at the very beginning (June 1st, to be precise) of the renowned Summer of Love are similar to the chances all the planets have of aligning tomorrow. Ordinary law dictates that the overwhelming majority of people and/or things will not get what they need right when they need it, and indeed that many people won't get their desired object/results at all. This, of course, is human nature, and as such is usually scrubbed out of the average persons' collective consciousness. Put simply, the things that you need most at a given time will more than likely not come when desired. And yet, when scrutinized in retrospect, all albums regarded as revolutionary and classic came at exactly the right time and from exactly the right place. Nevermind, Nevermind the Bollocks, A Night At the Opera, they all arrived right on schedule to change the course of music, and to assert themselves as rightful catalysts. While these occurrences are certainly uncommon, it is far less common for a musical group to do it more than once. It has happened, however. And the group that pulled it off is none other than the Beatles.


While many of the previously mentioned albums made themselves known utilizing some already in-effect scene or movement (in this case, let's say the Summer of Love), the odd thing about Sgt. Pepper is that it could very well be credited with creating the movement. After the album was released in June of 1967, the public at large suddenly dressed differently, behaved differently, and even thought differently. A valid reason for the albums' gargantuan impact is undeniably that it was a work of the already legendary quartet of John Lennon, Paul McCartney, George Harrison, and the ever-cuddly Ringo Starr. However, suggesting that the album was anything short of ground-breaking is damn-near blasphemous. Everything about the album was new; from the supremely reverb-drenched vocals to the half-assed concept. Never before had a rock album featured a marching brass section and rhythm and a blistering guitar solo in the same song, let alone in a time-span of ten seconds, as found in the Lennon-penned classic Good Morning, Good Morning.

The case that contains the music is no less innovative and revolutionary than the music itself. Filled with intricate detail and possibly even foreboding clues, no album cover had ever before been so vital and vivacious. By contrast, the next "official" album by the band would feature a plain white sleeve, perhaps to symbolize the end of an era, and the beginning of a new one. Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band has often been awarded the coveted title of best opening track to ever grace an album. The band, going on a limb, apparently, breaks the fourth wall within moments of the songs entrance, exclaiming that they are a group putting on a show for your pleasure. Brass instruments and guitars duke it out for prominence, while Paul delivers a ripping vocal performance in the vein of the earlier Beatles hit, Long Tall Sally. Evidence of a concept is made, well, evident in the seamless segueing into the one Ringo performance, the jaunty and perky With a Little Help From My Friends.

Allow me to state the obvious. Anyone who thinks that drugs played a diminished role in the sixties is more than likely on too many themselves. While With a Little Help From My Friends presents itself as innocent and good-natured, it is made more than plain just what the Beatles were getting up to in their off hours, no pun intended. Evidence? If you insist.

Mmm I get by with a little help from my friends.
Yes, I get high with a little help from my friends.
Oh, I'm gonna try with a little help from my friends.

That accursed LSD.


While new fashions and thought patterns were being invented, new musical genres were to go along with it. It is arguable that the entire genre of psychedelic can be summed-up by the Lennon classic Lucy In the Sky With Diamonds. From the ethereal (a word I'll probably use a lot in this review) mellotron intro to the completely spaced-out lyrics, the song can easily be depicted as an audio acid-trip. A notable Lennon characteristic in the song is the 3/4 time-signature for the verses, and the far more common 4/4 signature found in the chorus. Such rhythmic teetering would become a Lennon trademark in the years to come. While the album is notable and revered for its somewhat frightening flow, the CD version of the album does not contain the original track listing. Somehow, the overall vibe and current was preserved when the album was transferred from vinyl to plastic, even though certain tunes were tampered with.

While Jimi Hendrix was utilizing the guitar in an incredibly virtuosic manner, the Beatles were still using it more as a backing tapestry. While the Grateful Dead were inventing Jam Rock, the Beatles were still releasing two-and-a-half minute long songs. So what exactly makes the album so worthwhile to listen to? This question can be answered in song form. The song that will solve the riddle will be Getting Better. Simplicity and ingenuity has long been a classic Beatles recipe. While the still new for the times guitar styles and pulsating rhythms captured your ear, the astonishing vocal harmonies and tongue-in-cheek lyrical content blew your mind. Part of the genius of the Beatles was/is the ability to take a simple idea or chord progression and deliver it in a next to impossible manner. Go figure.


While the infamous Sgt. Norman Pilcher was out and about and jailing Rolling Stones members, the "cute" Beatle Paul McCartney was in some hot water of his own. Seemingly thinking he was helping his fallen comrades, who were confined on minor drug charges, McCartney admitted to taking LSD four times to an interviewer. The news was flashed all around the world, and conservatives and yes, Ed Sullivan, were shocked. Fans and members of the still burgeoning counter-culture were probably less than surprised. Why? All you have to do is this: Listen to Fixing A Hole, and think simultaneously. Lyrically, many accept the theory that the song is about what the title suggests, Paul fixing a hole in his house. Let us scrutinize, shall we?

I'm fixing a hole, where the rain gets in, and stops my mind from wondering. Where it will go

Well, okay. Nothing to revealing there.

I'm filling the cracks, that ran through the door, and kept my mind from wondering. Where it will go

Still nothing too obvious. But how about this?

I'm painting the room, in a colorful way. And when my mind is wondering, there I will go.

Bam. Self-explanation for the win.


Musically, the song has often been derided as bland and/or dull. While many hold this belief, I can't honestly see where they're coming from, as I find it to be superb, from the sharp, reverbed guitar jabs to the (once again) magnificent harmonies. While the song does boast a somewhat rag-time feel, a considerable amount of excitement is generated in the lead break, courtesy of melodic master George Harrison, whose guitar skills were already sharp, and who's songwriting knack was under construction.


She's Leaving Home is without a doubt the counter-part to the 1966 masterpiece Eleanor Rigby. Never in all my years of album hunting have I ever encountered two songs more similar. I have also yet to stumble across two more different. While both are dominated by classical instruments and arrangements, as well as Mr. McCartney's mellifluous vocals, one is distinctly foreboding and haunting, where as the other is more beautiful and poignant. The lyric contains more example of literary genius, and features more of that call and response type singing from John and Paul.

Paul: She...
John: We gave her most of our lives

Paul: Is leaving...
John: Sacrificed most of our lives

Paul: Home...
John: We gave her everything money could buy


Considerably more tender when set against the backdrop of classical instruments, including a harp, the tune signifies the bands' growing skill for utilizing rather, "abstract" instruments and ideas.


When John Lennon told George Martin that he wanted to "smell the sawdust on the floor", he was referring to the production and birthing of his song Being For the Benefit of Mr. Kite!. Containing some of the most extraordinary studio manipulation to date, Martin did not fail to deliver the carnival themed atmosphere Lennon desired. While pretty much a standard waltz, the song contains the infamous Lennon witticism in the lyrics, which were for the most part taken from a 19th century circus poster. By contrast, George Harrison's Within You, Without You is relatively bare in the studio-trickery department. If there is a low point to Sgt. Pepper, this is undoubtedly it. While the song is one of three Harrison Indian tracks, it is also the longest, and inevitably tends to drag on because of this. While the song can and more than likely will grow on you, the humble listener, the pretentious, "we're all one" lyrical style can admittedly be off-putting.

As shown by songs such as Maxwell's Silver Hammer off of Abbey Road, Paul had an obsession with vaudevillian music, stemming from his fathers' musical taste. While the previously mentioned song can be dull, it�s counterpart, When I'm Sixty-Four is nothing short of charming. The vocals are delivered in a rather high register by McCartney standards, though the cheeky lyrics make up for any problem I have with that.
Lovely Rita is a chiming, guitar driven song about a meter maid whom Paul seduces. While considerably more peppy than the previous two tracks, the simplistic drumming by Ringo provides an overall more forceful feel to the song as a whole. Allow me to muse here. The album has already covered multiple different styles of music, some of which hadn't been heard by human ears prior to the release of the album. So it seems rather shocking, to be sure, when a reprise of the first track shows itself.

Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band (Reprise) is only a minute and fifty-five seconds long. And in that short time period, it "rocks" more than the entire album put together had up until this point. While it is lyrically nothing more than a clever refrain of its predecessor, it's slightly faster beat and the renewed idea of the concept that was previously abandoned gives it a feel all its own. Remarkable for a reprise of the opening track.

Glossing over the already explained Good Morning, Good Morning, we make our way to the albums' finale and magnum opus, A Day In the Life. The song not only marks the end of the album, but in a way, the end of the famed Lennon-McCartney songwriting duo, as it would be the last major tune the two conspired on as a pair. Beginning with a simple, piano fueled progression, Lennon provides you, the listener, with a walkthrough of mundane yet oddly surreal events. After proclaiming his desire to "turn you on", Lennon allows a full orchestra to follow George Martin's instructions to "start quiet, finish loud" and blasts out an ascending run. This also provides a gateway for the McCartney portion of the tune, before floating back to John's portion, where he continues as if nothing signifacnt has just happened. But you, dear reader, you will know the truth. Whether or not it registers through your stunned disbelief is really up to you though.


Frankly, the album has obviously secured itself the "classic" title. Honestly, how could it not? While many feel it to be over-rated and pretentious, the impact it had on pop-culture, and the impact it continues to have, is simply massive. It is a fair assumption that there will never be another band like the Beatles, and by extension another album like Sgt. Pepper. While this is rather sad, it's also for the best. Anyone who loves the album shouldn't have a problem with this fact, as they can simply put on Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band; thirty-nine minutes of music that changed the world.

Has there ever been a band with as much hullabaloo around them as Radiohead? Yes. There goes the first hack at an introduction sentence. How about this? Has there ever been a band with as much deserved hullabaloo around them as Radiohead? Possibly not. The band perpetually shocks the world and revolutionizes music with each album they put out, starting with their acoustic rock standard The Bends. Then the massively discussed and argued about OK Computer, being as it's Radiohead's opus and what not. Following that album, Radiohead puts out Kid A, ends guitar-use in their music, ices the world over with their paranoia techno album, and Radiohead is the critic's darling. It's an arguable point that Radiohead can be put in the same class as The Beatles as in you can start pub fights over which album is their best. It's usually the three I mentioned before, and Hail To The Thief, because Hail To The Thief combines, if at times unsuccessfully, the sounds of the other three combined. But there's one album always, almost criminally, is left out of the barroom brawling fun. Spawned from the tumultuous Kid A sessions, Amnesiac is Radiohead's other techno album, the one that works in the same way as Kid A, only without the storyline and flow. The band promised Amnesiac would be filled with guitars and see the band return to the poppier side of things. Well that's bull***. Amnesiac is the weirder of the two Radiohead techno albums, except this one is jacked with piano, and though guitars pop up in this album, they aren't exactly focal points. In fact, a guitar doesn't even pop up until the fourth track. The similarities in the two albums are striking, but rest assured, this is no "Kid B".

Amnesiac's ghostly ambience music is rarely found in pop today. It is the continuation of Radiohead's "*** pop" phase, and throughout the album, you get the feeling vocalist Thom Yorke is on the verge of snapping. His lyrics border insane, but like the greatest poems, strike the hardest due to genius flow. Lines like "I jumped in the river, what did I see? Black eyed angels swam with me," and "We are going to crack you're little souls" reek with the paranoia Yorke publicly suffers from. The greatest lyricists in history all have had deep inner turmoil. Ian Curtis, Kurt Cobain, Edgar Allen Poe, all capable of grasping their inner demons and putting them on display in glass cases for the world to scrutinize. Thom Yorke is the survivor of this elite class. Barely. The feeling of being encased and observed like an animal in a zoo has always been a focal point for the band, and on Amnesiac, this disturbing feeling is only flashed with neon signs. During the choppy flow of Amnesiac's eleven pieces, the band seems to have finally reached their breaking point, like on the grand crescendo Life In A Glasshouse, Yorke sneers "Well of course I'd like to sit around and chat, but someone's listening in." Yikes. Nasty little one-liners like these make Radiohead so intensely beloved, but the thing is, they have a just as intense meaning. The album OK Computer were pieces dealing with the fear of a computer takeover of our world. Kid A is the panicked aftermath of the takeover. Thus, Amnesiac is this apocalyptic personal standpoint of Yorke in his own head. Through scary witticisms, Yorke, like a bad after school special about teen pregnancy, preaches "Don't let this happen to you".

So, you could say, Amnesiac was made by madmen. Well, I'd agree with you there, if I were a novice to Radiohead's intricacies and hush-anthems. Of course, we'd both be wrong as any respectable music fan would tell us. While the lyrics seep with dark purposes and doomsday visions of the future, the toons themselves are darker. Throughout the album, you get the feeling of someone creeping around your house, with nasty electronics pouring out through the speakers. The opening track, Packt Like Sardines In A Crushed Tin Box's electric nightmare feel draws the listener in and hooks them for a four minute period of "I don't know what's happening". Yorke, the ringleader in this bizarre circus, deadpans "I'm a reasonable man, get off my case," as computer-generated effects and sounds have spasms similar to those of a fly trapped within a spider's web. It's a blunt description, but it is what it is. The mesmerizing thing is, most of the album works in this way. Delicate techno and frozen piano's work Amnesiac to induce the effect Radiohead undoubtedly went for when putting out the album. Guitarists Johnny Greenwood and Ed O' Brien, when their guitars pop up, are only there for the ambience they produce. In You and Whose Army?, the band is barely there for the first two minutes, except for Greenwood's unflinching strumming. Then in a haunting bridge, the band blows Amnesiac open with a piano-pounding anthemic moment. While Yorke cries out "We ride tonight: ghost horses", the listener obtains a feeling Radiohead puts in at least once in each album. You know, the one where you lose your senses and get enveloped in a euphoric state. Previous albums used guitar and fuzz to get it done, like on OK Computer's massive "Exit Music", but this time, piano and a plentiful supply of crash cymbals make the experience just as enjoyable. At this point, the dedicated fan knows Amnesiac is no garbage dump for Kid A's remains.

Now wait just a gosh darn minute, here. There's no way this Kid A partner album can be as good as its brother, can it? Well dear reader, the answer there is no, it cannot. But Amnesiac comes damn close. It goes forth where Kid A fell back, and it freezes where Kid A burned. There's a good deal more piano in the album then just the aforementioned You And Whose Army?. In fact there are even piano-driven tracks. Pyramid Song works with sweet ascending chords and sweeping violins, i.e. "How To Disappear Completely", putting the listener underwater in a panicked moment of drowning. And these were my thoughts before I saw the video. Yorke knows how to work this underwater feel to a striking level of potency, as he sighs over everything "Jumped in the river... All my lovers were there with me, all my past and futures, and we all went to heaven in a little row boat." Damn, that's got some zip to it. Rarely on Kid A were lyrics this personal and this hard-hitting (though the extrospective zingers were also as poetic). Amnesiac just seems to be Yorke's place for scribbling out tortured thoughts, and the listener is dragged along with them, enveloped with this man of quivering bottom lip and Luciferian tenor. The band works so well with him to, as they put either the solid ambience needed to accompany Yorke's pain, or a massive contrast to make satirical pieces hit all the harder. In I Might Be Wrong, Jonny Greenwood plays a hypnotizingly catchy guitar hook throughout the song, all while Yorke mumbles "Let's go down the waterfall, have ourselves a good time, it's nothing at all." The way Greenwood Jr. (His older brother Colin plays the bass) works the electronics and puts mismatched six-string arrangements together puts him in a class Johnny Buckland only wishes he could be in.

Sounds like this dark collection is perfect for your slightly off-the-beaten track mind? It probably is. Unfortunately, Amnesiac just has something missing that the holy trinity before it never failed to have. The one difference I failed to mention between Kid A and Amnesiac is perhaps the biggest one: Amnesiac doesn't flow. At times, its garbled mannerisms and its similar musical feel to its predecessor get tedious to listen to, and Amnesiac does put in some annoyingly same feeling songs in it. The Morning Bell/Amnesiac rehashing of Kid A's 10/8 mesmerizer loses the biting running man feel by using instead of percussion, jangly keyboards and scratchy guitar. It's almost completely skippable if it weren't for Yorke's classic "Where'd You Park The Car?". Pulk/Pull Revolving Doors is simply Kid A's title track minus the good. Hunting Bears strives to be a "Treefingers"- like track only with guitar, but instead comes out sounding like random riffs and bass. Those three copies from Amnesiac's brother, and the fact that Like Spinning Plates is basically just "I Will" of Hail To the Thief played in reverse, makes one wonder if Amnesiac is just a conglomerate of it's sandwich family. Thankfully that isn't the case completely (and a good thing too, because the image of that sentence was an odd one), and though Amnesiac does steal the lesser parts of it's other albums, there's enough good on it to make it a worthy Radiohead album.

Ahh, and we finally come to the ever-burning question people who read reviews seek the answer to. Should you buy this? The answer is one that is cause for pause. If you haven't gotten a Radiohead album in your life, don't get this one. The ambience filled diddies and airy tracks can be intimidating to the first time listener. But if you are into Radiohead, and particularly enjoyed Kid A, then the recommendation is given. Thom Yorke's signature warble and some brilliant Radiohead-ish songs are present throughout the album, even though there's some dirt to dig through to get the good ones. But the way Radiohead works in different styles, even if for one or two tracks, makes for an entertaining listen, to say the least. They always fit an unexpected style into every one of their albums, and on Amnesiac, it's no different. Check out the jazzy finale, Life In A Glasshouse. Listen to the chaos as the horn and clarinet solo, completely indifferent to the other, all over Yorke's steadfast piano and his paranoid whisper "Once again we are hungry for a lynching. That's a strange mistake to make." Nice. Unfortunately, a lot of it sounds too much like Kid A and some musical ideas are ripped off altogether. If you were to follow Morning Bell's advice and "Cut the kids in half", you may initially find Amnesiac to be the lesser of the two kids, but with patience, the crafty twin of Kid A may prove to be the child you love more.

God what a horrid analogy...