Kenny Burrell
Lotus Blossom
ConcordThere's a bunch of jazz guitarists who are unable to move out of the shadow of Charlie Christian or Wes Montgomery, but don't count Kenny Burrell among them. The guitarist has never followed the crowd; indeed, there are those who follow him. A master of subtlety and grace, his playing is the quintessence of warmly romantic jazz. Lotus Blossom finds the guitarist reunited with the Concord Jazz label for a pleasant jaunt down memory lane. Recasting a dozen or so classic cuts in his own image, Burrell's fretwork is impeccable. Standards like Duke Ellington's "Satin Doll" and Billy Strayhorn's "Lotus Blossom" are imbued with a hushed dignity, and Burrell is careful to avoid gratuitous deconstructions even as he stamps the tunes with his own indelible mark. The guitarist shines in various contexts--solo, duo and trio--but the solo pieces (including the title track) are especially satisfying. Whether he's scampering up and down the fretboard on single runs or extracting velvety chords, Burrell's technical and emotional command is always evident. (Nicky Baxter)
Gob
Too Late ... No Friends
MintShort, sharp, shocking punk exported from Vancouver, B.C. Molded by Bad Religion's punk noise and a squirt of Screeching Weasel's mayhem, Gob speeds like an out-of-control battling top, keeping guitar string companies in business. Attitude is in short supply, and Gob certainly fills the void with just enough goof and obnoxiousness to trigger a head slap. The metallic snort of "Bad Day" and "Asshole TV" makes suburban living conditions tolerable. The rest of the 20-track CD consists of variations on the three chord, three-minute-or-less blast pushed along by snotty, nasal gusts. Recommended. (Todd S. Inoue)
SF Seals
Truth Walks in Sleepy Shadows
MatadorLured by the beautiful minor key, jangly folk-rock she heard as a child, Barbara Manning pined for a San Francisco she'd never seen. As an adult, she arrives to find herself dead broke in a teeming slum under a sun that never shines. And still, sometimes, when the fog shrouds the grime of the city, the music returns to tease her mind's ear. The SF Seals produce numbers that are like the good Jefferson Airplane songs that never got played on the radio. Singer/songwriter Manning has a voice that's weirdly both wispy and powerful, a sort of velvet (underground) burr that thrives under the lushest '60s psychedelic production. Except for the first track, "S.F. Sorrow (Is Born)" (believe me, it never died), however, nothing on this album is as overwhelming or as recommended as her recent "San Diego Zoo" on Wasps's Nest by The 6th. Still, Manning also writes sensational, simple ravers with piercing lyrics; check the lyrics to "Ipecac" and "Pulp": "I don't love you anymore/and I'll keep repeating it till I'm sure." (Richard von Busack)
Dead Hot Workshop
1001
Tag RecordingsDead Hot Workshop is a more college radio-oriented Wilco. With subtle country seasoning and spicy, sizzling electric guitars, the four chaps dish out rock songs that are flavor-smoked. Edgier, yet redolent of Hootie and the Blowfish, Dead Hot Workshop's 1001 is loaded with country rockers that soar over the dust left behind by the squealing tires of a pickup truck. Brent Babb busts out grainy, rawhide vocals, while the band leans heavily toward Babb's and Steve Larson's guitars rather than G. Brian Scott's invisible bass line. "Lead Thoughts" has the tempo of a brisk gallop and a guitar line that would lasso in the wildest of stud horses. (Bernice Yeung)
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