Short attention span reviews #2

Voxtrot's self-titled record sounds like 11 stabs at the same song. But it's a good song, which is a damn good thing.

Grant Lee Phillips' Strangelet at first made me feel sad that growing older seems to mean getting boring. But like with my own aging, I listened again and realized it wasn't so bad after all.

Patrick Wolf's The Magic Position IS the Divine Comedy's Casanova. Am I the only one who hears this? To sum: not Pulp; Divine Comedy. Capiche?

Feist's The Reminder poses the philosophical questions: at what point does an album become Adult Contemporary? Does it ever? And is it okay?

Son Volt's The Search, like all other Son Volt records, can never be given a fair shake, since Jay Farrar's voice will always remind me a little too much of 1996.

Pocket Symphony continues Air's aim to create a sound that, no matter how much you can appreciate, just glides past you without you ever giving it a second thought. Like, say, air.

New Buffalo's Somewhere, Anywhere wins the Greater Than The Sum Of It's Parts award for being extremely sublime and pretty in spite of being self-consciously sublime and pretty.

Revisited: Is it wrong that the only reason I gave Amy Winehouse's Back To Black a second chance was because I found out that the Dap Kings were the backing band? I kind of love the album now, in spite of Winehouse's faux soul. In the jukebox: one of the greatest parenthetical song titles of all time, "Me and Mr Jones (Fuckery)"