The Weekly Jive

Aimee Mann—@#%&*! Smilers (Super Ego)

The title of Aimee Mann’s latest album refers to annoying people who always urge you to smile (insert preferred curse word). It speaks volumes. Not exactly Mrs. Happy Go Lucky, Mann often crafts cynical, confessional tunes about broken romances and drug dependency. Her visibility factor rose immensely after an Oscar nod for “Save Me” (from the flick Magnolia) in 1999. That didn’t translate into mainstream success, so Mann started an independent label, became a regular at LA singer/songwriter haven Largo and continued making beautiful, yet caustic tunes dealing with depression and alienation. 2005’s The Forgotten Arm was a pop/rock concept album revolving around an alcoholic Vietnam vet and his white trash girlfriend. Smilers is like a collection of short stories and lighter in tone. Electric guitars are absent; layered keyboards, analog synths, clavinets, distorted Wurlitzers, prominent horns and a string section provide a far more inviting sonic palate than before. Opening track “Freeway” concerns a well off speed freak who moves to L.A. to get clean (oh, the irony) then heads to the O.C. to get a fix. Boasting a vaguely New Wave sound and hooky chorus, it’s one of the catchiest things Mann has done in years. “Ballantines,” a jovial ode to an old Kentucky bar (the male duet partner is a dead ringer for Antony of the Johnsons), recalls past work with Jon Brion. Falling in love with a poltergeist is the impetus for the whimsical “True Believer,” co-written by Grant-Lee Phillips. Another enthralling adult alternative collection from Mann. (George A. Paul)

Gavin Rossdale—Wanderlust (Interscope)

Poor old’ Gav: in the space of just a few years the perpetually angst-ridden Brit has gone from heartthrob frontman in a mega-selling post-grunge band (Bush) to “that bloke who married Gwen Stefani.” But Rossdale isn’t one to lie down and, despite the almost spectacular mass apathy for his short-lived Institute project three years back, he’s once again putting his svelte neck on the critic’s chopping block with Wanderlust. Helmed by über-producer Bob Rock (Metallica/Mötley Crüe etc.), this aimless collection of trying-to-be-intelligent, guitar-y pop (perhaps an over-reaction to the failure of the hard-edged Institute) is only going to resign Rossdale to another tour of clubs smaller than his wife’s dressing rooms. His always-about-to-crack timbre still connects, albeit in melodramatic fashion, but the songwriting on Wanderlust is too naïvely singsong to be credible yet not sufficiently hooky to be even a guilty pleasure. Gavin Rossdale is a man with few worries and much money—which may explain Wanderlust’s over-produced insipidity. (Paul Rogers)

Midnight Juggernauts—Dystopia (Astralwerks)

Midnight Juggernauts gained major attention last year as an opening act for Justice, who proceeded to give them props in various interviews. Formed in Australia, the dance rock trio put out two EPs and did popular remixes for others (Presets, Electric Six). They went down a storm this past April at Coachella, despite an early afternoon set in the Sahara Tent. Self-produced debut disc Dystopia is equally invigorating. Taking a cue from 1970s Eurodisco producer Giorgio Moroder and the sinister Gary Numan, plus latter-day practitioner Air, the Juggernauts are equally adept at space rock, mood pieces and party anthems. Among the standouts here are the acoustic guitar-driven title track (think chilled out Pink Floyd), infectious “Into the Galaxy” (with a lyrical nod to Van Morrison & Them), freaky instrumental “Scorpius,” bouncy “Road to Recovery” and “Tombstone” (both full-on electronica in the Daft Punk vein). Prepare for a memorable journey, these guys are an irresistible force. (George A. Paul) 

Ladytron—Velocifero (Nettwerk)

When Ladytron released 605 in 2001, they established themselves as the vanguards of the new electropop sound surge. Although new-wave wasn’t new anymore, Ladytron piled on the analogue synths and pop song structures in earnest like it was, and breathed glittery new life into a genre that had let out it’s death gasp almost a decade before⎯the likes of Depeche Mode notwithstanding. Their new release, Velocifero, isn’t a complete departure from their earlier releases so much as it builds, kind of, on the sonic momentum the band has spend the last seven years gathering, but it ultimately falls flat. The album is good enough, incorporating bouncy bass lines and icy synths, giving it Ladytron’s signature antiseptic sound of chilly detachment, but it’s that detachment that makes things uninspiring. It’s restrained to the point of seeming redundant, and while those girls can still whisper quiet life into banal, throw-away lyrics and the beats are still danceable, it ultimately lacks the same sense of movement and momentum that made previous releases seem like the electro alpha. (Phil Fuller)