Common goes home, remembers how to ‘Be’

"Suit Yourself," Shelby Lynne
On first listen, the raw, unproduced accessibility of "Suit Yourself" can be a bit disarming.

"Suit Yourself," country-soul singer-songwriter Shelby Lynne's latest release, opens with Lynne giving her band instructions in her smooth Alabama drawl. She plays them the bridge a few times, asks for headphones, and offers encouragement. Seconds later, they launch into the catchy, upbeat "Go With It" and it's like being right there in the studio.

One of the CD's standouts, "I Cry Everday," begins with Lynne cracking a joke and laughing. At first, the band sounds like it's warming up and, at times, Lynne sounds like she's improvising with the lyrics. Then there's a heavy sigh, followed by an awkwardly long pause near the end of the song. (Lynne says it was midnight and they were all "pretty liquored up," which may have had something to do with it.) But, all in all, it's a groovy, sexy song and Lynne's rich, buttery voice lets her pull it off.

Several tracks, including the touching "Johnny Met June" penned by Lynne the morning she heard of Johnny Cash's death, are first takes Lynne recorded alone in her California home.

On "Iced Tea," Lynne's sweet and lovely lyrics are barely accompanied — only simple hand claps and a soft acoustic guitar are utilized for backup. "You're the cornbread and iced tea of life," she sings, and manages not to sound silly at all.
— Kim Curtis

"Face The Truth," Steven Malkmus
On Stephen Malkmus' third post-Pavement album, "Face The Truth," the indie-icon continues to refine his singular brand of elliptical rock. Going at it alone a la his self-titled debut (although his band The Jicks contribute heavily), the chameleonic "Face The Truth" moves effortlessly between boisterous electro-pop, bluesy workouts and hushed sing-a-longs.

Schizophrenic opener "Pencil Rot" gives a good indication of what's in store: Like anything Malkmus-related, expect the unexpected. Right on this schedule, "It Kills" slips into more comfortable terrain with the return of his signature guitar tone and a vintage Malkmus vocal melody that has no right to work, but does. The soft ballad "Freeze the Saints" shines in its unadorned simplicity: Instead of the usual piling on of effects and instruments, the wistful melody stands on its own while Malkmus earnestly sings pensive prose.

Centerpiece "No More Shoes" is the best song here and maybe his finest since Pavement split. All spiraling electric guitar and modest-but-timely flourishes, as is often the case with Malkmus, his brilliance shines through in the details. Right before tearing into the song's searing introductory solo he sneers, "Get your back," wielding the subsequent jagged guitar line like a weapon.

Obviously saving his better stuff for the later innings, the album's second half constitutes his best run as a solo artist. The sunny afternoon-folk of "Mama" — the perfect chaser to "No More Shoes" — has him going on about her cooking and living miles from a "fortified town." On its heels, "Kindling for the Master," the weirdest thing here, thankfully ushers his return to meaningful/meaningless wordplay and his patented blend of fractured disco and psyche-hop.

Closer "Malediction" sums up the record's reassured stance: "So long/ goodbye to the nervous apprehension/ I certainly won't miss you." In truth, this is world's away from the messy ramshackle of early Pavement singles or even classics like "Crooked Rain, Crooked Rain." On "Face The Truth," Malkmus almost completely ditches the irony for conviction.
— Jake O'Connell

"Twenty," Robert Cray
Robert Cray's latest album, "Twenty," is quintessential Cray for those who know of his work. The 11 tracks are a study in how routine modern blues can be when presented without any fire in the belly, from a frontman who refuses to command attention.

Cray's brand of blues is musical pabulum, weak in ambition and rote in execution. Or perhaps this isn't supposed to be blues at all.

"Poor Johnny" sounds like a Wilson Pickett vs. pop song mash-up; "My Last Regret" is a corny torch send-up (though the Kevin Hayes' soft drumming is nice); and on "I'm Walkin'" Cray should have really heated up the fret board, but instead he merely delivered an even-paced treatment of riffs that could have fallen out of the pages of any intermediate blues guitar lesson book.

This is the riskless blues and you can feel every note coming from a mile away. Cray proves he's not a bluesman himself, merely a talented practitioner who gives the listener chords and construction commonly associated with the genre.

I remember seeing Cray open for John Lee Hooker in Palo Alto, Calif. many years ago. The crowd was generally appreciative during Cray's set, but the audience really lit up just a few notes into Hooker's performance. The difference between some who lived the blues and someone paying homage to it was inescapable.

That night, Hooker left the venue and headed for a large, shiny luxury car with women about half his age on each arm.

Cray probably left his guitar in one hand and the keys to a Honda in the other.

"Twenty" lacks any luster.
— Ron Harris

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