By Jason Stonerook

“Together Through Life” -  by Bob Dylan
Dylan’s latest sounds like a slow-burning fire devouring an old oak, ring by ring, from the inside out. Most situate Mr. Zimmerman within the tumult of the 1960s, but Dylan fancies himself an avatar from a vanished pre-rock and roll landscape of borderland cantinas, wily bluesmen, and sideshow freaks. Like any folk song, his music is a conduit to an eternal past, and Dylan is a fortune teller who believes past is prologue. If songs like “Beyond Here Lies Nothin’” and “It’s All Good” are harbingers of things to come, then this republic faces hard times.

“21st Century Breakdown” – by Green Day
If you hadn’t heard, Green Day didn’t think much of the George W./ Cheney administration. Now that we’ve bid them good riddance, why is Green Day still obsessed with excoriating the irresponsible, faith-based warriors who handed Generation Y the keys to a brokedown nation? Because the band wants every kid to remember what happened over the past eight to – oh, I don’t know – forty years. Sure, it’s not as heroic as “American Idiot.” Lazy symbolism abounds. And the Who, the Clash, and Springsteen have covered this ground before. But that’s the point: Why must every generation remake this record?

“Fortress Round My Heart” – by Ida Maria
A fine slice of museum-quality Scandinavian pop-punk, the gem here is “I Like You So Much Better When You’re Naked.” The verses are propelled by skittish guitars and drums that nicotine can’t tame. Before long, the lead singer and her FWB are shedding their clothes on the way up to her flat. The guy helps Ida chant the chorus: “I like you so much better when you’re naked,” followed by the kicker, “I like me so much better when you’re naked.” Dr. Drew says it’s unhealthy to work out self-esteem issues via sex. True, but what if you’re just horny?

“Art Brut vs. Satan” – by Art Brut
He’s been up all night. He’s made mistakes. He hides it well, but doesn’t feel great. His band thinks they’re recording a Guy Ritchie soundtrack, but whatever: He’s the film’s narrator, a hung-over street philosopher who dodges bullets while cracking jokes. He tells it like it is. He’s 29, still reads Aquaman comics, and drinks chocolate milk. He hates U2, is indifferent to the Beatles, has just discovered the Replacements. (Really?) And he thinks your record collection sucks. He’s Eddie Argos, lead singer of Art Brut, an unabashed hooligan. So who’s Satan?

“Outer South” – by Conor Oberst and the Mystic Valley Band
When last we left Mr. Oberst, he’d ditched the folksy Bright Eyes and made an album of country rock under his own name. Turns out the band he recorded with was all right, so they get credit this time ‘round. Since I’m not fond of epic folk albums, I like this new direction, even if it rarely becomes more than a Sunday drive down Highway 61. “Air Mattress” (a sweet ditty about love) and the political rant “Roosevelt Room” are highlights, although Oberst’s dewy voice seems to restrain the band elsewhere. He sounds more at home on the spare folk tracks. [Shrug shoulders.]

“Swoon” – by Silversun Pickups
I suppose it’s around that time when pop culture kicks its 80s obsession and begins paying homage to the 1990s, that era of recession, Newt, and alternative angst, which all got swept under the rug by Bubba’s tech boom. Silversun Pickups is a sign of sounds to come, resurrecting the ghost of Smashing Pumpkins via…wait, who is that, Linkin Park? That doesn’t count! See, you can’t get nostalgic about the era you’re still in. Hillary lost that fight a year ago. Be the change, ‘cause Silversun Pickups ain’t.

“The Airborne Toxic Event”
The Airborne Toxic Event relates tales of hopeless romantics searching for true love inside the disposable glitz of L.A.’s clubs. For them, it’s a postmodern dilemma. (How do we know? Because they found their name in a Don DeLillo novel.) Will TATE morph into a literate synthesis of the Strokes, the Smiths, and U2? Or will we hear their songs during CW dramas as tragically beautiful O.C. teens behold a Pacific sunset and wonder if they’ll someday graduate from the local mall to the boutiques of Rodeo Drive? Ah, postmodernism…

“Fantasy Ride” – by Ciara
Her voice is as thin Janet Jackson’s, so she’s no Beyonce, (which may not be a bad thing, since I think Ms. B. over-sings,) so like Michael’s little sister, Ciara will need to rely on hooks. Roughly half the songs have them, none better than “Love Sex Magic,” a funky, sensual duet with Justin Timberlake. It recalls Prince at his peak, and if you also hear shadings of Stevie, then Ciara has pretty much out-Wondered everything Alicia Keys has aspired to throughout her career.


CLASSIC REVIEW:
“Electric Music for the Mind and Body” - by Country Joe and the Fish (1967)
Perhaps best known for the anti-war “I-Feel-Like-I’m-Fixin’-To-Die Rag,” the Bay Area’s Country Joe and the Fish should also be remembered for recording – drip-for-drip – the best psychedelic album of the 1960s. All the hallmarks are here: Bluesy guitars on the edge of fuzzed-out distortion, spooky circus organs, mindbending imagery, half-jive vocals one step removed from 50s-era R&B and rockabilly, campy 60s beats, and vaguely eastern textures straight from the garage. And the songs are short, so there’s no mindless noodling. (Take that, Garcia.) It’s a trip. Gimme an F!