Better Late Than Never Reviews: Hysterical - Clap Your Hands Say Yeah

On its third studio release, Hysterical, Brooklyn quintet Clap Your Hands Say Yeah seems determined to leave the raw, distorted production and unabashed weirdness of previous releases Clap Your Hands Say Yeah and Some Loud Thunder behind them in favor of a more tightly produced, less amateurish sound. While they are successful in some ways, the efficient yet unspectacular result leaves the listener wondering if their formerly less polished mien is what gave them their niche in the world of indie rock music.

Better Late Than Never Reviews: Biophilia - Bjork

Supposedly, there is a special iPad app for every song on Icelandic songstress Bjork's eighth (ninth, if you count Selmasongs, which I probably would) studio album, Biophilia. There is also word of an incredibly designed interactive touring spectacular. Well, two things: I don't have an iPad nor do I have plans on bolstering the bottom line of Steve Jobs' estate any time soon and I live in Philly, a city that usually doesn't make it on the itinerary when The Lady Who Rocked the Swan Dress decides to tour. But that is OK. For the music on Biophilia, Bjork's best, most complete, and most sonically innovative album since Vespertine, is more than enough.

I don't know if Bjork was taken aback by the negative reaction to her last album, 2007's uneven yet underrrated Volta - probably not because she does not strike me as someone who would really care - but with this disc she has chosen to move away from the impulses that had her collaborating with hitmaker Timbaland and gravitated toward a collage of sounds so odd she had to literally invent new instruments to make them possible. One example of this is the album's lead single and strongest overall offering, "Crystalline." Using an instrument dubbed the "gamaleste," because it is a combination of the celesta and the gamelan (two other instruments that I have never heard of, by the way), Bjork crafts a twinkling beat that is instantly addictive. Over this, she layers (and every song on the album benefits from extensive listening) whip-crack percussion and airy, ambient sonics. It is interesting also to note that the song, while avant garde as f*ck, is as effective as it is because it also applies basic pop structure, including a terrific chorus, multiple-part harmonies, and a extremely rocked-out drum-and-bass closer. That's right; I used to hear those all the time on Beach Boys records.

Better Late Than Never Reviews: The Whole Love - Wilco

Let's pretend for a moment that The Whole Love, the eighth studio album by accomplished rock collective Wilco, was actually two EPs, one of which we will call The Whole Love Above and the other of which we will call The Whole Love Below. If this were the case, I would say that The Whole Love Above was an out-and-out winner, loaded with infectious bass lines, experimental instrumentation, masterful songcraft, and ferocious yet nimble guitar work. On the other hand, I would be forced to say that The Whole Love Below was...a bit of a dud. However, as it stands, the piece is one full album, an uneven one that struggles to find a cohesive sound and frustratingly chooses to keep cycling back to spare guitar balladry when everything of value is clearly in the churning musicianship of its first half.

Four of the first six songs are stellar. Album opener "Art of Almost" starts with a crunchy, Krautrocky repetitious drum beat and a boatload of noodly synth, and concludes with a spectacular surge of guitar violence by reliable ax man Nels Cline. The thrill continues with "I Might," an instantly hummable classic that thrives on 60s surf rock keys, tweaked-out fuzz guitar, and a tremendously vibrant-sounding Jeff Tweedy, who is joined by the boys toward the conclusion for a cooing vocal harmony. Also standing out are "Dawned on Me," which features more distorted guitar, a tremendous chorus, and an uproarious closing that includes thunder drums, wailing keys, and some off-kilter whistling for effect. Finally, the band wraps up the first half of the album with "Born Alone," which showcases the band's way underrated rhythm section of John Stirratt and Glenn Kotche. The two combine to create a groove that leaves the listener literally salivating to hear the song in concert.