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Ben Folds Five | The Hang Ups | Jim White | James McMurtry | Prodigy | Radiohead

Ben Folds Five
"Whatever and Ever Amen"

Sony/550 Music

In this alterna-rock world in which too many bands sound calculatedly disengaged, Ben Folds Five comes across as something of a musical contrarian. Unabashedly pop and unashamedly proficient, frontman Ben Folds' facility for sprite arrangements (think early Joe Jackson-meets-Randy Newman, with a touch of Gershwin) earned him a status as "lovable geek" among many who heard the band's debut. In many ways, Whatever picks up right where the first album left off. Nestled in a bed of rich melodies and occasional jazz flourishes, Folds' vocals have the insistent urgency of a kid in a talent show trying to wow the mom's and dad's with his boyish tenor. In those rare instances when the album does venture into new territories, it generally hits pay dirt. Both "Brick" and "Evaporated" are the kinds of keyboard ballads Eric Carmen might've written had the ex-Raspberry been cranked through a sap remover, and "Missing The War" offers intimations of Queen sans the operatic bombast. Still, except for an inclination to be less rhythmically frenetic, Amen unfurls few new blueprints, which is just fine. Sometimes it's a measure of good sense to leave well enough alone. by Russell Hall

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The Hang Ups
"So We Go"

Restless/Clean

At first listen, the Hang Ups' brand of pop songcraft seems hopelessly saccharin; like dandelion fluff, the band's melodies are so airy they come apart in your hands. After five or six spins, however, the group's songs become harder to dismiss. Sporting a sound similar to the La's, the Hang Ups' musical lineage harks back to '60s soft-rock Brit-Invaders like the Hollies. The band's most distinctive feature is its choirboy harmonies, and the group plays to that strength so persistently that the music stands or falls on how well they pull it off. Sometimes, as on the high-stepping, banjo-tinged "Walkin' Around," the results would sound right at home on an old Byrds album. But just as often, otherwise promising songs are blanketed in dreamy textures that smother them. In regard to styles, to say the Hang Ups lean toward jangle-pop is like saying Rush Limbaugh leans toward cholesterol. Even when the band flexes its muscle, the distortion-assault is at least partly stymied by an arsenal of trebly acoustic guitars. Like the most polite kid in the neighborhood, the Hang Ups seem blatantly out to charm. Some people will find their efforts ingratiating; others will find them grating. by Russell Hall

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Jim White
"Wrong Eyed Jesus!"

Luaka Bop/Warner Brothers

With the faux-Finster cover art and sweeping, cinematic sound, Jim White's quirky debut could easily be dismissed as affected and pretentious, authentic like the House Of Blues. The warbly vocals often drown in rural clanks, odd effects, and hoedown percussion, and the stream of consciousness lyrics peppered with Bible-Belt references give the sense that his drive was to embody the image and attitude of Southern Gothic and rural folk-art, substance be damned.
But who cares if "Wrong Eyed Jesus!" is genuine -- the attitude and feeling it evokes is unique and powerful. If the medium is the message, White's cup is overflowing. The backwoods songs sure sound haunting -- a gospel-charged blend of Jim Thompson and Flannery O'Connor -- with a quirkiness of both arrangement and singing style that simultaneously evokes Vic Chestnut and Beck. When he needs to nail a melody, as on "Burn The River Dry" or the gorgeous "Heaven Of My Heart," it flows out effortlessly, with the instrumentation merely supporting the gentle lilt.
When the melody fades, as on "When Jesus Gets A Brand New Name," the syncopation and whistles create a deep-seeded edginess; it's not loud or in your face, but there's no question it's disturbing. Combine that with the supernatural images of "Still Waters" and the blind hitchhiker story-scape of "A Perfect Day To Chase Tornados" [sic] and "Wrong Eyed Jesus!" makes it clear that questions about authenticity are irrelevant when the result is this intriguing. by Michael Lach

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James McMurtry
"It Had To Happen"

Sugar Hill

James McMurtry made a considerable splash with his fine debut "Too Long In The Wasteland." A collection of wryly written rural songs that were both melodic and insightful, it was helped by both his last name (his father is "Lonesome Dove" Larry) and producer (heartland kingpin John Mellencamp). But then McMurtry did just what no one expected: he got better.
"It Had To Happen," his fourth record, is wonderful for all the right reasons. Like his previous "Where'd You Hide The Body?" the songs are stories about the folks on the outside of town. They're obviously from a Texan perspective, but they resonate universally. With minimal word play, they open up a world of feelings, emotions, and almost plot lines: the young man who bitterly inherits a farm and feels compelled to stay on "Sixty Acres," the lonely grandmother making the kid tag along on "Be With Me."
His voice was never his strong point, but here it sounds better than ever, and thanks to the lush arrangements-buoyed by Lisa Mednick's accordion and gentle background singing -- it never falls through.
His agile and spidery guitar playing dances over the work of a crack band of Texas players, and with McMurtry's feel for rhythmic groove and the deep sound he coaxes from his band mates, it never sounds like generic folk, country, or rock and roll. Famous Texan performers are often divided into two categories: wry and wise songwriters, like Guy Clark and Townes Van Zandt, and expressive instrumentalists, from the Stevie Ray school. With "It Had To Happen," McMurtry skillfully blends the best of both worlds. by Michael Lach

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Prodigy
"The Fat of the Land"

Maverick

An unabashed cartoon of a band, Britain's Prodigy vaulted from stateside cult act to MTV sensation with the release of its single "Firestarter." The hyperactive electronic dance tune, which boasts the peculiarly English ravings of vocalist Keith Flint (think Oliver Twist on crack), pulsed like a migraine for which aspirin could offer no relief.
You had to love it, even if you hated it, because nothing else on the radio sounded remotely like it. After months of hype, however, the band's debut for the Madonna-owned Maverick label is anti-climactic. Turns out that "Firestarter," easily the album's best track, is the cookie-cutter for everything else.
As conceived by Liam Howlett (Prodigy's musical mastermind; the act's other three performers are merely manic spokesmodels), "The Fat of the Land" is a brain-rattling catalog of monotonous break-beats (that relentless wallop that drives the most aggressive hip-hop) and rowdy sloganeering.
Nothing wrong with that in three-minute bursts, but after a couple of tracks, it's clear that Prodigy is enslaved to its own overworked shtick and can't imagine anything beyond it. "Breathe," the current single, reaches a bit: Flashes of Pink Floyd's "Astronomy Domine" underscore cries of "Psychosomatic addict insane!" And Flint does a pretty passable Johnny Rotten imitation.
Yet, there's nothing in this that a rap group like Cypress Hill hasn't done more convincingly, projecting druggy dementia with self-conscious humor, verbal imagination and a trickier barrage of beats.
Prodigy bases its appeal on a surprisingly limited formula that, while promising all kinds of new thrills to karaoke fans -- "No, I'm the firestarter!" -- is a crushing bore for the rest of us. --by Steve Dollar

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Radiohead
"OK Computer"

Capitol

Few expected to hear from Radiohead again after the band's 1993 smash "Creep" left its indelible stamp on Gen X culture. But these gifted Brits defied all expectations with their brilliant 1995 album, "The Bends," a collection of tunes so resolutely downbeat it was dubbed "complaint rock" by Alicia Silverstone in her movie "Clueless." "OK Computer" continues the band's dour mood, but opens new avenues of musical experimentation. Perversely bombastic, this is an old-fashioned concept album with a heavy theme -- technology's enslavement of humanity -- and lengthy, meandering songscapes ("Subterranean Homesick Alien/Exit Music").
Pretentious? Perhaps. Effective? Utterly. by Derrick Henry

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Cowabunga dude!
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Good to shake your bootay to
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Sell it & you might get enough money to buy a beer
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Kmart won't touch it.
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You might hear it at the local Waffle House.

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