Illumination
PAUL WELLER
YepRoc
What is it with musicians who forsake their pasts? David Bowie got lost in the tin can of techno-pop, and Sting gave up his white-reggae/punk vintage to be an adult-contemporary icon. Likewise, Paul Weller all but snipped off his snotty mod roots to become a blue-eyed-soul poster boy.
Even so, the former lead singer/guitarist for 1970s British new wave heroes The Jam has more guts than the aforementioned pap stars. For starters, he still rocks. Since his sometimes-brilliant but mostly failed experiment with quasi-jazz — The Style Council — went kaput 12 years ago, he has released expertly arranged solo outings that have equal parts substance and sophistication. Unfortunately, the albums haven't taken hold with really anyone except fans of the singer's past work.
The typical Weller album has a few standout songs, and the rest fade from memory. It would be nice to say that Illumination breaks this pattern, but, alas, no.
Still, Weller continues to be a musical presence. His strong, earnest vibrato blends nicely with sparkly acoustic/electric guitar textures amid keyboard, piano and soulful rhythms. In the final analysis, though, these songs simply aren't as adhesive as his early work. Weller is at his most successful on Illumination when he exercises restraint, building to impassioned crescendos, like in the sweetly melodic "Leafy Mysteries."
Compensating for the disc's weaker moments is the album's, well, light — meaning that Weller reflects more of it now. With The Jam, you could all but hear his sneer. He's since traded his indignation for the touching sincerity and wisdom he expresses in tunes such as "One X One" (featuring Oasis' Noel Gallagher on acoustic guitar): "Share your dreams/ give us all the beam we need/ like electric lights/ in a ballroom scene."
Remnants of Weller's socialistic ideals appear throughout, but are nowhere near as caustic or cleverly written as The Jam's indictments of British middle-class life and Thatcher-era politics.
Then again, it's not fair to expect an artist to remain the same decade after decade. We can, however, wish they wouldn't make Jaguar commercials. 
—Julie Garisto
Mambo Sinuendo
Ry Cooder/Manuel Galbán
Nonesuch
Ry Cooder has plucked another member of the Buena Vista Social Club for a round of Cuban exotica. This time it's a saucy guitar summit between Cooder and the country's twang king Manuel Galbán. The two imagined themselves as leaders of an electric guitar band that would reinterpret a golden age of Cuban music in the 1950s, when influences like jazz and the forward-thinking compositions of Perez Prado tempered folk music's traditionalism. They rounded out the basic personnel with two trap drummers, congas and bass, and launched into a project that manages to be at once quaint, timeless and otherworldly. Start with the rhythms: While basically Afro-Cuban in nature, they saunter, creep and undulate — antithetical, in many respects, to the hyperkinetic grooves of modern salsa. As for the guitars, Mambo Sinuendo is not a chops showcase. The ensemble work, as well as the solos, are built around a lovely twang, with thick, shimmering tones and lots of echo. With its swooning melodies, this is music with an easy sense of flow and the coy flavor of old-style romance. —Eric Snider
Let Go
NADA SURF
Barsuk
The third full-length from once-Buzz Binned Brooklyn pop trio Nada Surf actually appeared in the Planet's mailbox several months ago. The disc was immediately received by several staffers as an out-of-the-box classic, but it seemed prudent to let the tunes sink in until its actual release date, as so many instantly catchy records reveal themselves as time-release crap after the first dozen listens. Not so with Let Go. It remains a nearly flawless slice of arty-yet-approachable guitar pop. The excellent, overlooked sophomore LP The Proximity Effect left the threesome's hip, overdriven geek-punk origins far behind, and the moody, clean-guitar-adorned Let Go ups the maturity ante without sacrificing their compelling earnestness. Several cuts, including acoustic opener "Blizzard of 77," the beautifully austere "Blonde on Blonde," the taut, climactic "Killian's Red," and soaring "Neither Heaven Nor Space," evince a timeless quality, relying much more on Matthew Caws' melodies and intensely personal lyrical style than on rhythm or riff. All of the songs effortlessly balance conscious construction with emotional flow, with Caws' occasional hokey line made up for by the dynamic instrumentation. Let Go is a rarity among indie-pop albums: one that gets under your skin at the first exposure, and stays there. 1/2—Scott Harrell
Long Knives Drawn
RAINER MARIA
Polyvinyl
Rainer Maria's fifth album is an excellent display of the indie rock trio hitting their musical stride after seven years of touring and recording. The urgent post-pop power-punk band makes full use of the economical instrumentation of guitar, bass and drums, evoking a very natural sound. Caithlin De Marris sings beautifully, enunciating every syllable clearly, and plays formidable melodic bass; guitarist Kyle Fischer provides dynamic guitar antics; and drummer William Kuehn plays like a more-precise Keith Moon, keeping the energy way up. Rainer Maria stretches their songwriting legs with heartfelt words and high-velocity performances that build on their past two albums, which were critically acclaimed and built them a modest national following. They dabble in dissonance with buzzy guitars and bashing drums on "Ears Ring," which starts out as a noisy romp before turning into a full-blown anthem of lost love: "Strange how your arms sting when you are left holding nothing/ You need contact daily; your conscious has failed." The opener, "Mystery and Misery," explodes with a barrage of tom-toms, and the bombastic "Long Knives" is sure to rock your face off. Guitars chime on "Double Life," an upbeat song about lovers reuniting: "I wasn't paying attention and you quietly reeled me in again." This smart little band from Brooklyn by way of Wisconsin cuts its own path through the genre-jungle and is highly recommended. Rainer Maria plays with Mates of State at The Orpheum on Wednesday, March 5. 1/2—Chris Lunceford
This article appears in Feb 26 – Mar 4, 2003.