9 - The Michigan Daily - Tuesday, October 10, 2000


Selmasongs, Bjork; Elektra
Aoshua Gross
Daily Arts Writer
Lars Von Trier's new award-winning movie "Dancer in the
Dark," for which Selmasongs is the soundtrack, is a musical
set within the labyrinthine decay of neglected mechanical
factories, stacks of unused robotics in dusty corners, mysteri-
ous bolts and screws littering the floor. Unsurprisingly, the
recording is metallic. It sounds fantastic but tastes like rust.
While these recordings celebrate Bjork's melodramatic voice,
the lack the fullness of "It's Oh So Quiet," her previous
arpt at the excess of the big-band musical genre with its
surplus of drunken horns and bamboozled crashes.
The soft-hearted splendor of the terse three-minute over-
ture "Cvalda" is sliced into by the sound of machinery, as if
the saws and jackhammers are splitting the very song in
which they are contained. But these abrasive sounds are cut
into as well, this time by Bjork's dove-like, soaring cry. These
distinct, contradictory sounds meld together to create a clat-
ter not unlike a "Sound of Music" recording being ripped
apart as it plays, Julie Andrew's voice strangely untouched,

airborne.
In "I've Seen It All," Bjork and Radiohead's Thom Yorke
sing a restrained duet; their orchestral inflated sedateness
sounds like Rogers and Hammerstein singing through a
burlap sack, which is a compliment. "109 Steps" is the most
infantile songwriting imaginable, Bjork counting every few
steps from one to one hundred and nine, but it is as simple
and beautiful as a prayer when transformed by her voice,
strutting as proud as a kaleidoscopic peacock and then hiding
like a shy baby mouse.
These songs, the skele-
ton of the film, occur too
sporadically to form a
cohesive story on their
own. The album suffers
from this diffusion, and as
a result it does not stand'
well as a recording alone.}
The sound is Technicolor,
but unfortunately, sound is
invisible.
Grade: C+.

Ghost Stories, Amanda Ghost; Warner Brothers
By Joshua Gross
Daily Arts Writer
Amanda Ghost is the next best thing. The new girl in town.
Elton John really likes her. So do Boy George, Rolling Stone
and Joni Mitchell. You'll be singing her songs soon: They've
engineered it that way. You think you will resist. You won't.
Her debut album, Ghost Stories, begins like any other bad
techno album, a repetitive beat with strained vocals that
sound like they're coming from the cold-sore smeared mouth
of a pasty, pimple-faced diya who is too waifish and unap-
pealing to launch any career other than that of singing the
strained vocals on a droning techno album. The song is called
"Filthy Mind" and tries to be sexual, but it is just unoriginal
and boring.
The second song is a complete turn around. "Idol" is a
poppy ditty about yearning for a submissive love that would
almost be entertaining if it hadn't been given the Goo Goo
Dolls, test-audience, lyrics manipulated so they can be sung
more easily by girls with trendy sapphire-colored braces.
TRL treatment. Half the album is as forgettable as this tune.

The other half is a little different.
The redeeming songs are those that allow Ghost to capi-
talize on the more soulful octaves she can reach but these
songs, "Cellophane" "A Child Believes," "Numb" and
"Empty." However, these have been fenced in at three and a
half minutes apiece like beautiful prisoners that grandmoth-
ers see on television, sitting as still as statues except for their
heads, which shake sadly in disapproval. "What a shame,'
they whisper in unison.
Amanda Ghost should have tried a little harder, made the
songs a little longer, sung
a little stronger, ached a
little more. She has a nice
voice. It's a shame that
her studio/agent/produc- / <,,
er/ image-consultant tried :.
to turn her into some-
thing that she isn't ~
instead of allowing her to
freely explore her own
lush musical terrain.
Grade: C


Streetsoul, Guru's Jazzmatazz;
Virgin
By Tom Sinas
Daily Arts Writer
Throughout the last decade, Guru
has been solidifying his stature as
;one of hip-hop's most important
MCs. Whether it be collaborations
-with beat master DJ Premier or his
cnpet projects, Guru's rich vocal
re and unflappable flow are the
!hallmark of his work.
The latest offering by Mr. Guru is
the third in a series of projects
known as Jazzmatazz, which attempt
to bring together jazz and hip-hop
'aesthetics via the use of jazz instru-
mentalists, MCs and hip-hop produc-
tion techniques. The project made a
big splash with the first release in
'104 but lost a bit of steam due to a
watered down follow-up album.
'Thankfully for hip-hop fans, the
third time's the charm.
With Streetsoul, we see Guru

abandon his strict adherence to jazz
infused grooves and horn loops to do
what he does best: Kick some hard-
nosed rhymes over strong beats and
melodic hooks. The increased inten-
sity of the production is a much bet-
ter match for Guru's style and often
sounds a bit reminiscent of his work
with DJ Premier in Gang Starr.
Listening to this record, one gains an
appreciation for Guru's uncanny
ability to balance self-boasting with
socially conscious content without
sounding preachy.
Like many hip-hop records of late,
Streetsoul boasts a myriad of guest
stars. Fortunately, these guests don't
get lost in the shuffle of the produc-
tion. Instead, each track succeeds in
capturing the character of the particu-
lar guest artist while providing ample
support for the man of the hour. From
Angie Stone's supreme melodic
styling on "Keep Your Worries" to
The Roots militant rhymes on "Lift
Your Fists," the guest artists really
shine here. Even the dissonant key-

board funk by Herbie Hancock on
"Timeless" provides some great color
while avoiding the US3-esque pitfall
of acid-jazz nausea.
Between forthcoming releases from
Reflection Eternal, De La Soul and
Erkyha Badu, this season promises to
be a busy one for hip-hop. But it
would be a mistake for one to gloss
over Streetsoul. It's solid hip-hop by
one of the best practitioners of the art.
Grade: A-

i

Elevator, Titan; Virgin
By Jeremy Kressmann
For the Daily
Chances are you've eaten a peanut butter and jelly sand-
wich. Right? Even if you didn't like it, ever thought about
who the hell decided to put the two ingredients together? The
same question applies to Mexican electronic outfit Titan.
Founded by Jay de la Cueva, Julian
Lede and Emilio Acevedo in the early
'80s, Titan's sound is an intriguingly
"peculiar" mix of strange synth loops,
drum machines, funked-out electro;
bleeps and vocals that seamlessly blend
English and Spanish. On Elevator, the
group stuffs their Mexican and Latino
influences into a suitcase and literally
makes a run for the border.
The disc comes across like a1
Mexican Beastie Boys cover band try-
ing to make songs while simultaneous-
ly playing a game of Centipede on their
Atari. The collaboration is at times a
perfect blend, at others a semi-tedious
mess of noise. The track "Coraz6n,"

Titan's remake of Carole King's song of the same name,
introduces a smooth and swanky horn loop, while a mellow
female chorus croons, "Yo te quiero, mi corazon." The track
emanates with a hip, seductive vibe, never forcing you to lis-
ten, instead drawing the listener in with its exotic siren song.
Other tracks like "1, 2, 3, 4" get you grooving, then taper
off into something resembling the theme of a cheesy TV
detective show. Titan's problem on tracks like this one stem
from their innovative qualities. Instead of pleasing, these
same qualities leave you stranded,
waiting for the intro's groovy loop.
"La Frecuencia del Amor"
begins with an eerie squiggle. of
mesmerizing electro sounds. As it
progresses the rhythm picks up,
steadily. pushing you towards its
retro-organ crescendo, then blasts
right through, fueled by the
momentum of a distorted guitar
loop. The song pushes ahead
towards unknown musical bound-
aries and Titan seems to be much
the same, unafraid of what musical
oddities might lie ahead.
Grade: A-


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