(Columbia)
There are several reasons not to hate We're a Happy Family, the latest Ramones tribute album. The Lymphoma Research Foundation will receive a portion of the proceeds (funny how Joey's cause of death wins over Dee Dee's heroin overdose). Stephen King's liner notes are kind of amusing. And if a kid who thought \Pretty Fly For a White Guy"" was punk picks up a Ramones album because The Offspring like them, well, that's a success. As a musical document taken by itself, though, We're a Happy Family is nearly worthless.
Much of the genius of the Ramones was the fact that they made the best out of what little they had--a couple guitar chords, a healthy dose of gallows humor and a love of the Bay City Rollers--resulting in some of the greatest pop songs of all time. Songs like ""Sheena is a Punk Rocker"" or ""53rd and 3rd"" simply can't be improved, leaving a cover with nowhere to go but down and a tribute album that's inherently flawed.
Several artists try imposing their own style onto the song as a means of getting around this pitfall, but only Tom Waits' cover of ""Return of Jackie and Judy"" succeeds. Tom Waits plus the Ramones is an equation that's seemingly infallible and Waits doesn't disappoint, wailing to great effect over a fuzzy guitar riff, a bass-line provided by Les Claypool and a junkyard drum beat.
Other songs work reasonably well because the original diverted a bit from the regular Ramones formula, giving the artist something to play around with, such as the jangly guitar of ""I Wanna Be Your Boyfriend"" or the Spectorization of ""Rock 'n' Roll Radio,"" covered by Pete Yorn and KISS, respectively.
But these tracks--along with a surprisingly pleasurable cover of ""Outsider"" by Green Day--are definitely exceptions on this 16-track compilation. The Offspring exhibit their karaoke bar-punk knowledge by offering up a rote ""I Wanna Be Sedated,"" Rob Zombie takes ""Blitzkrieg Bop"" way too seriously and the less said about U2 covering ""Beat on the Brat"" the better. The usually steady Pretenders toss off a boring version of ""Something to Believe In,"" and the rest of the tracks are so much like the original that they lack any kind of merit.
In the end, We're a Happy Family is nothing but a more involved version of wearing a Ramones shirt on ""Saturday Night Live""--a shot for current rock stars to acknowledge the influence of one of the best bands of all time. Failing to reach the height of the original songs, though, the bands unwittingly pay the Ramones an even higher compliment: Undeniably, Joey, Johnny, Tommy and Dee Dee did it right the first time around.
(Acoustic Disc)
With a smooth, fluid style, the George Barnes Quartet captures jazz at its best. The majority of their new release, Don't Get Around Much Anymore is solid; balancing arrangement and technique with some serious chops.
The band features George Barnes as lead guitarist and soloist. Barnes, perhaps one of the most underrated jazz greats, reveals his guitar prowess throughout the live album. He was one of the first to pioneer the guitar as a solo instrument, starting in the 1930's. He created a new outlet for the electric guitar, focusing more on harmony than rhythm. Throughout his career he collaborated with many artists (including Bob Dylan), while also pursuing a solo career. At age 14 he already had his own quartet, which he continued to tour with (in between solo projects) until his death in 1977.
Barnes' ability to produce great solos rests on two factors: his solid timing and his fellow band mates. In terms of timing, Barnes is right on. He is able to improvise and play out of time without getting sloppy. Of course it helps to have a steady groove to build from, which is exactly what the remaining members of the quartet provide. The chemistry between them is remarkable.
Classic tracks such as ""Perdido"" and ""Sweet Georgia Brown"" stand out, showcasing the fine interplay between Barnes and fellow guitarist, Duncan James. Drummer Benny Barth provides a solid performance throughout, while bassist Dean Reilly shines on ""I May Be Wrong,"" leading Barnes to exclaim, ""You know you're not supposed to be able to play that stuff on bass!""
The album's main weakness is its tendency to recycle the same sound throughout. For most (though not all) songs, Barnes uses the same melodic idea: incorporating different notes while sustaining the original phrasing. This motif-to-motif style creates an appealing sound, but Barnes would do better to switch it up from track to track. In fact, when he does switch it up, he produces some of the album's greatest moments. The jazzy rendition of ""Theme from the Flinstones"" breaks out of the repetitive mold and showcases Barnes' ability to combine his sense of humor with improvisation and creativity. Moments like this reveal the enthusiasm and love the musicians have for what they do. The album is sure to attract new fans as well as satisfy long-time followers.
(High-N-Dry)
Morphine was one of those left-field, obsessively followed bands that, despite regular moments of genius on their five studio albums and a rabid fanbase, operated throughout the 1990s beneath the radar of public appreciation. The sound--an immediately recognizable syrup of slide bass, saxophone and drums that could be minimal or lush at any given moment--was as much of a moodmaker as Moet and strawberries.
When principal songwriter, lead singer and bassist Mark Sandman fatally collapsed on stage in 1999, there could have been no question that the band died right then and there as well: Morphine without Sandman would be like The Crickets without Buddy Holly.
Following Sandman's death and the subsequent release of The Night, Dana Colley and Billy Conway--forever, alas, to be known as the other two guys--led a motley crew of musicians composing Orchestra Morphine, a traveling concert of reinterpreted Sandman compositions.
Morphine's blues influence is largely replaced by aspirations towards acid jazz and trip-hop, albeit an adult-contemporary v
ty of high-quality, unique tracks, mostly concentrated in the first half of the disc: the menacing, groove-driven opener ""Spinner"" leads into the spacey ""Little By Little."" Sargent's voice, reminiscent of Morcheeba's Skye Edwards', marries well with the smoky, late-night vibe that every band with a tenor saxophone seems to generate. Colley assumes lead vocals on ""Golden Hour"" and the result is an unsettling imitation of Sandman's baritone voice. Whether intentional or not, it's a poor choice. The closer, ""Who's Gonna Sing"" is a baleful dirge that may or may not be about filling Sandman's shoes--everyone's mumbling, so it's hard to tell--but either way threatens to undo the breezy, clever air that follows the rest of the album's songs.
All in all, Twinemen is a satisfying debut--all songs are executed competently, and some very well. If the world had never heard Colley and Conway backing one of the most extraordinary vocalists of the 1990s, this album would probably get the attention that's due to it, rather than reminding people how much they like Cure for Pain. Holding any band up to the standard of a band as unique as Morphine is unfair, but ignoring the similarities, in this case, is impossible. Hopefully Twinemen won't be martyred by the memory of Sandman, but it's undeniable that the songs on Twinemen hearken back to Morphine much more than suggesting anything new.
