Fever to Tell
Yeah Yeah Yeahs
Interscope
When the whole garage-rock revival thing collided with the whole New York City scene thing, a feisty Brooklyn trio called the Yeah Yeah Yeahs was thrown into the national hip-music spotlight. The bass-less band featured an extroverted female singer given to erratic, provocative behavior and a histrionic sound that combined updated No Wave disco-punk (see The Strokes) with fuzzed-out blues explosions (see The White Stripes). In other words, it was like God put on a UPS uniform and delivered a large crate to the corner of Hollywood and Vine with "NEXT BIG THING, OPEN IMMEDIATELY" printed on its side. The world waited breathlessly for a while, then tried to forget about the whole thing. But Spin wouldn't let them.
So does Fever to Tell live up to the hype that shredded mini-dresses, spilled beer and a scant eight previously available tunes built? Of course not. Nothing could, really — the buzz surrounding the Yeah Yeah Yeahs had long ago reached a point where failing to achieve orgasm just by removing the shrink-wrap would constitute a letdown. By and large, Fever to Tell is a solid and intriguing effort but, ironically, the Yeah Yeah Yeahs' biggest perceived asset reveals itself as a sonic liability: on record, Karen O's vocals can be irritating as all get-out.
Throughout the first half of Fever to Tell's 38 minutes, O detracts hugely from Brian Chase's spot-on rhythms and guitarist Nick Zinner's brilliant amalgam of tradition and innovation. She sneers, pouts, shrieks and generally refuses to defer to the music itself. She drowns the glistening liquid intro to "Rich," out-smarms the bluesy strut of "Man" like a deranged Betty Boop and renders the propulsive "Tick" tiresome with a nonstop spastic expectoration that's far more self-consciously postured than it is cool or soulful. There's no doubt O's got pipes and attitude to spare, but she spends the first four tracks of the disc tripping over herself (and the tunes) in an effort to drive it home.
By the excellent "Pin," the album arrives at an uneasy balance between listener acclimation, O's style, and hooks that will not be upstaged. There's still quite a bit of yammering, but the song's pop-grounded arrangement prevails. This gestalt holds for the rest of Fever to Tell, revealing the top-notch craft inherent in "No No No" — at least until it devolves into a self-indulgent space-dub — "Maps," and particularly "Y Control." These songs display an intuitiveness and sense of restraint on O's part lacking from other material, a faith in the possibility the world won't end, and the band won't suck, if she backs it off a couple of notches.
Musically speaking, Fever to Tell leaves the majority of its ilk behind. Zinner and Chase are a formidably talented instrumental team, and O certainly possesses both the image and the chops. But the ratio of the former to the latter needs a bit of readjustment if she is to lead the Yeah Yeah Yeahs beyond the realm of great expectations to true greatness. 
1/2 —Scott Harrell
Good Mourning
Alkaline Trio
Vagrant
Hmmmm. Very strange. The airtight, darkly shadowed pop-riff hooks are in full effect. As is the marvelously sharp and self-deprecating wordplay. Ditto the infectious, Smoking Popes-inspired vocals and their corresponding ear-candy melodies. If you're a fan working your way down the Alkaline Trio manifest, everything appears, at first glance, to be in its place. So why does the Chicago-bred threesome's latest batch of misanthropunk come off as a bit of a disappointment?
Maybe it's Good Mourning's tendency toward upper mid-tempo cohesion — previous Trio releases careened between blitzkrieg bpms and hung-over dirges with an enthralling sense of gleefully suicidal carelessness. Maybe it's the guitar sound, as Matt Skiba's former whatever-amp-works gnashing has been replaced by multiple layers of softer, earthier, more expensive tones. Or maybe it's the relative lack of inventive time-signature skewering; only bassist Dan Andriano's admittedly excellent "If We Never Go Inside" does it, and then only minimally.
Obviously, all of these factors play a part. But what's really lacking from Good Mourning is the sense of tossed-off greatness that permeated From Here to Infirmary and Maybe I'll Catch Fire, that savant vibe of being naturally superlative without caring too much about proving it to anybody. This disc is better than just good. "This Could Be Love," "Continental," "Fatally Yours," the compelling acoustic closer "Blue in The Face" and one or two others stand with the band's best material. Taken as a whole and compared to their catalog, however, it sounds curiously self- conscious, like a little too much studio time and a little too little blind charge went into its creation.
Alkaline Trio plays the State Theatre in St. Petersburg on Sunday, June 1, with Pretty Girls Make Graves and Pitch Black. 1/2—Scott Harrell
Rosslyn
John Taylor Trio
Changing Places
Tord Gustavsen Trio
ECM
In the late '50s, Bill Evans came along and set the standard for jazz piano-trios that holds to this day. His often-introspective style and telepathic give-and-take with his bassist and drummer remain the building blocks of the format. Whether it's Brad Mehldau, Jacky Terrasson, or any number of other contemporary players — they may not outright copy Evans, but their sensibilities don't drift far. The European ECM label may be the biggest haven for post-Evans pianists, and it recently rolled out two formidable entries — from English veteran John Taylor and Norway's up-and-coming Tord Gustavsen. These albums are essentially bookends full of luxuriant melody; pensive, probing improvisations; rich, bell-like piano tones and sensitive accompaniment. Taylor chose Americans Marc Johnson (the late Evans' long-time bassist) and drummer Joey Baron as trio-mates, and as such comes closer to the pliant jazz sound, with its gradual rhythm shifts and propensity to make the sidemen more than accompanists. Gustavsen brings a bit of the icy north feel in his playing, along with a touch of folk flavor and a twinge of neo-classicism, but he can still swing it out from time to time — in a decidedly reserved fashion, of course. The unpracticed ear might find these albums nondescript and relegate them to background music. There's nothing wrong with that, but a richer listening experience comes in turning off the lights, getting comfortable and really concentrating, savoring the music, letting it wash over you. Try it. www.ecmrecords.com —Eric Snider
This article appears in May 28 – Jun 3, 2003.