Fugazi The Argument
Following the career-definitive film Instrument, and its accompanying (and rather austere) soundtrack, postrock's favorite Island Unto Itself has once again taken up its longest thread: reconciling rhythm and riffage. That the foursome produces some of the most substantial and thought-provoking lyrics in contemporary music is beyond debate. Musically, however, Fugazi has traditionally been a little harder to pin down, enjoying the tension produced by an ongoing tug-of-war between melody and groove.
The Argument's title could easily be a reference to the band's apparent need to let either the rhythm section or the guitars, but never both simultaneously, define its tunes. Most of the disc's fare expands on Fugazi's time-honored hallmark of building around the drums and bass — a tight foundation and sinewy low-end melody are augmented by bursts of alternately atonal and surprisingly catchy six-string invention. But gone for good are the linear simplicities of jumpers like "Waiting Room" and anthemic blasts such as "Reclamation."
In on the Kill Taker probably contained the group's last true hardcore elements; here, everything from the rocking "Cashout" to the sparsely adorned "The Kill" is colored by those introspective and wildly left-field tendencies that have always been present but have grown steadily more prominent over the course of Fugazi's recorded output. Not that experimentation is a bad thing — as out there as The Argument gets, the band's inherently organic vibe and distinctive vocal deliveries keep things coherent.
"Full Disclosure," the moody strings (!) of "Strangelight," the syncopated, dynamic "Oh" and uproarious "Ex-Spectator," along with just about everything else, stand up alongside the band's most memorable material, though a certain sense of turning away from anything remotely tried-and-true is even more obvious than on previous releases.
Any consistently innovative and emotionally driven act runs the risk of alienating some of its audience in the pursuit of something new. Fugazi, though, has made a career of it, and anyone who's kept listening this long is unlikely to find anything among The Argument's fresh batch of compelling, visceral sonic idiosyncrasies to complain about. They may never perfectly reconcile the rhythm/riff paradox, but as long as they keep coming up with strong material along the way, who cares? (Dischord, www.dischord.com)
—Scott Harrell 
The Murder City Devils Thelema
Ian Mackaye called, and he wants his damn vocal chords back. Seriously, folks, singer Spencer Moody sounds like the spitting, shouting and hollering image of Fugazi's pasty singer. Musically, though, Moody's band, the Murder City Devils, has its own sensibility going, and it's a far cry from Fugazi's math-problem music. Two guitars making big, bad (as in good) riffs, swirly keyboards and that familiar voice make MCD sound something like Minor Threat on grunge steroids. Where Murder City Devils fits between Limp Bizkit's jockular rock and Sum 41's kiddie punk, I can't begin to say, but it's pretty good nonetheless. "364 Days" is an ace holiday depression song, in which St. Nicholas is asked to take off his boots, "pour a drink and try not to cry, try not to think." Spencer Moody sounds like his stomach is tied up in knots — if his doctor said Mylanta, he'd probably just go home and write a song about it. (Sub Pop, www.subpop.com)
—Dave Jasper 
Boz Scaggs Dig
"Comeback" is something of a pejorative term in the entertainment biz; most such artists delude themselves into thinking they never went away. Whether Boz Scaggs views Dig, his first album in seven years, as a comeback or not, well, um, it is — in the best sense of the word. The old vet has joined forces with a couple of likeminded studio vets — Danny Kortchmar and David Paich — and put together a disc that plays to the artist's strengths, which these days falls into the realm of adult-oriented blue-eyed soul. In a certain regard, Dig is a long-awaited sequel to Silk Degrees, Scaggs' quasi-disco hit album of the '70s. The new one features sensual mid-tempo and ballad grooves instead of four-square disco beats, but the sense of easy flow is there, as is Scaggs' languid voice with its sexy lilt. The disc's shining moment is "Hey Miss Riddle," a gorgeous soul ballad that's made even more seductive by the dusky horn-section work of Roy Hargrove (who performs similar duties for D'Angelo). Nearly as fetching are torchy tunes "Desire," "Sarah" and "Thanks to You." A couple of the uptempo tracks are cumbersome (especially the funky "Get on the Natch") and the drum programs can be a bit leaden (how 'bout a real drummer? — what a concept) but, for the most part, Dig showcases Scaggs' songs and singing without sounding either too dated or too conscious of being on the now tip. (Virgin)
—Eric Snider
Kelly Hogan Because It Feel Good
Kelly Hogan's second release on Bloodshot Records is one of the most rewarding sonic experiences I have had since stumbling upon a vinyl copy of Emmylou Harris' Pieces of the Sky at age 14. (The only reason I paused "Smells Like Teen Spirit" long enough to give that record a spin was because Harris looked so damn sexy on the cover.) Like Harris, Hogan has been blessed with an uncanny ability to both write and interpret country and pop songs with balanced aplomb. The two women also posses similar crystalline voices that are capable of embodying heartache the way a tear signifies pain. Encased in a stew of steel guitars, organ, haunting Futura effects and sweeping Billy Sherrill-esque strings, Hogan's voice washes over like an opiate. (Bloodshot, www.bloodshotrecords.com)
—Wade Tatangelo 
Nanci Griffith Clock Without Hands
On her newest album, Nanci Griffith's aim is true but somehow fails to weave the same charming spell as most of her prior efforts. It's brimming with meditations on the echoes of war and the silent strength of the American veteran, but a few songs seem ill-fitted for both the project and Griffith herself. Her quirky voice is better suited to her own brand of musical storytelling, and the number of lukewarm covers on this album not only devalue the more heartfelt efforts (John Stewart's "Armstrong" and "The Ghost Inside of Me") but also detract from Griffith's own songs (specifically, the affecting "Traveling Through this Part of You" and the true Nanci Griffith-style "Midnight in Missoula"). This album is not the best introduction to such a talented singer/songwriter, but longtime fans as well as supporters of The Campaign for a Landmine Free World and the VVAF will likely enjoy it. (WEA/Electra)
—Diana Peterfreund
This article appears in Oct 18-24, 2001.