Reviews of new releases from The Who, No Knife, Jimmy Fallon, Duke Ellington and Eva Cassidy.

The Who My Generation (Deluxe Edition)

In 1965, The Who was a nascent band running more on youthful insouciance than clear-cut vision. Which is why this two-disc Deluxe Edition of the band's debut album is ultimately so rewarding. Part amped-up R&B combo, part garage-rock outfit, part Brit invasion popsters, the quartet caroms all over the place. The swoony Beatles cop The Kids are Alright is followed by a sleazy run at James Brown's Please, Please, Please. The driving A Legal Matter shows hints of Townshend's budding rapier wit. Foremost, My Generation still sounds every bit an indisputable classic. Of all the songs on the original album, the most bizarre is The Ox, a pumped-up satire of the surf classic Wipe Out (replete with Nicky Hopkins' boogie piano). In fact, what most set The Who apart at this early juncture was Keith Moon's bruising drum work. No other mid-'60s stickman was playing with such hurricane ferocity. The 47-minute bonus disc is, for the most part, an R&B throwdown, with Roger Daltrey laying the soul-shout on thick. The highlight is a punchy take on (Love is Like a) Heat Wave. Weirdness comes in the form of Townshend's Instant Party Mixture, a tongue-in-cheek pass at doo-wop. And for further posterity: two more versions of My Generation, one being the first-take instrumental (making the stops all the more jarring) and the other a mono single with guitar overdubs, probably the most familiar version to American ears. (MCA Chronicles)
—Eric Snider

No Knife Riot for Romance!

Possibly the most under-appreciated rock/postrock outfit ever to emerge from San Diego's fertile scene, No Knife have over the course of three full-lengths carved out their own inventive brand of guitar- and melody-driven sci-fi psychedelia. Riot for Romance! continues the evolution, binding the quartet's inimitable snaking, trebly guitar lines and airtight, off-kilter grooves to more subtle and mesmerizing effect. Less bombastic than '99's Fire in The City of Automatons, Riot nonetheless bristles on occasion, as in Swinging Lovers, the noisy breakdown of Parting Shot, and Flechette. Largely, though, the disc is a near-perfect marriage of rhythm and atmosphere, a spaced-out headphone-listener's dream that rocks with danceability, too. No Knife reinvent Fugazi's familiar posthardcore milieu as a gentler New Wave, Pink Floyd and Wire-damaged moonscape. And it works unbelievably well. (Better Looking, www.betterlookingrecords.com)
—Scott Harrell

Jimmy Fallon The Bathroom Wall

There's no shorter road any comic can take to Hasbeenville than the one down which his or her frustrated musicianship begins to overshadow the humor. And despite his reported protestations to the contrary, Saturday Night Live marquee player Jimmy Fallon's first CD seems an obvious bid for musical credibility. While split evenly between songs and live stand-up, the five tracks of tuneage place slick production values and somebody's idea of commercial listenability far above actual comedy. Of the soul song, the hip-hop song, the country song, the power-pop song and the punk song, only the soul song (first single Idiot Boyfriend) is even marginally funny, because it doesn't try to take its songcraft seriously. Ignoring that Fallon is a comedian and digesting the other tracks simply as songs finds them mediocre at best. Even the stand-up is largely music-oriented, consisting mainly of hit-or-miss impressions of pop stars and other comics doing jingles. Fallon's presence on SNL is undeniable, but listening to The Bathroom Wall, one's gotta wonder how he got there in the first place. (Dreamworks)
—Scott Harrell

Duke Ellington and his Orchestra
… And his Mother Called him Bill

1967. The Summer of Love. Sgt. Pepper's. Are You Experienced. Billy Strayhorn, Duke Ellington's long-time musical partner, died that year, and it didn't exactly do a seismic number on the national psyche. Clearly, it resonated with Ellington and his orchestra, though, who three months later lovingly recorded an album of all Strayhorn songs: Blood Count, After All, Lotus Blossom (a solo Duke and a trio version), Raincheck and others — but, oddly, no Lush Life, which Ellington refused to include. …And his Mother Called him Bill, fleshed out with six bonus tracks, is simply 72-and-a-half minutes of radiant, sophisticated music. Strayhorn's luxuriant melodies are wrapped in epic arrangements that emphasize the sensitivity of the tunes. The music swings smooth and easy, the horns caress instead of careen. This disc is, in every conceivable way, gorgeous. (Bluebird/BMG)
—Eric Snider

Eva Cassidy Imagine

Discovered posthumously by the independent Blix Street label, Cassidy — who died of melanoma in 1996 — went to No. 1 in Britain and developed a sizeable cult following in the States with '98's Songbird. Despite worries that Imagine might've been dredged from the bottom of the barrel, this set of standards and covers (Lennon's Imagine, Danny Boy, Fever, Tennessee Waltz and more) is of generally high quality. The disc accomplishes essentially one thing, the only thing it really had to: showcasing a truly extraordinary, angelic voice. Part folkie, part jazz diva, part blues chanteuse, Cassidy had the whole package: clarion tone, impeccable chops, natural interpretive savvy and that intangible ability to get inside your heart. (Blix Street,www.blixstreet.com)
—Eric Snider