A Ghost Is Born
WILCO
Nonesuch
It's always something with Wilco. Seems like every release is accompanied by a cavalcade of peripheral hoopla. Last time around, it was the now-famous story of how the band was dropped by Warner Bros. over allegations of inaccessibility, only to later resell the same songs to the megalith via another subsidiary, Nonesuch Records. Unaffected by rampant downloading (it was put up on the band's own website), that record, Yankee Hotel Foxtrot, went on to become a critical high-water mark and their best-selling album to date. This year, the eagerly awaited A Ghost Is Born arrives on the heels of several lineup shifts and principal Jeff Tweedy's stint in rehab for painkiller addiction.
It's impossible to say exactly how much this bullshit affects reviews and sales, but it's a safe bet it doesn't hurt. Would Yankee Hotel Foxtrot have moved as many units without the endless prerelease play-by-play? Probably not. However, that doesn't mean it's not an excellent album. And hopefully, the same end-of-the-day criteria will apply to A Ghost Is Born — sooner or later, you've gotta log off of the indie-music websites, put on the headphones, and judge the music on its own merits.
Thankfully, the new Wilco record doesn't just stand up to the band's eclectic, formerly alt-country-heavy catalog. It surpasses it. Fans who saw the last record's blips, bleeps and startlingly unconventional arrangements as the shape of things to come will be either relieved or disappointed, depending on their reaction to Yankee Hotel Foxtrot. A Ghost is Born comes off as far less experimental, though no less ambitious and sophisticated. Songs like the krautrock-accented "Spiders (Kidsmoke)" and comparatively straightforward lush-pop tunes "Hummingbird" and "Handshake Drugs" are surprisingly easy to digest.
While Tweedy's iconoclastic lyrical bent is firmly in place, wandering introspectively from anecdote to metaphorical free association, A Ghost is Born overall sounds more like a logical progression from 1999's pop-saturated Summerteeeth than 2002-03's visionary headline-maker.
Which isn't to say the disc is without wildly creative (and truly weird) moments. Opener "At Least That's What You Said" contains some killer skronk guitar. The aforementioned "Spiders (Kidsmoke)," while innately catchy, explores droning electronic melody like no one since Can. And the 15-minute-plus "Less than You Think" contains more dull roar than it does actual song.
But as a whole, Ghost is far more pedestrian-friendly than one might expect. And that's a good thing. Sure, Yankee Hotel Foxtrot was an amazing record, but it suffered at times from a self-conscious artiness that seemed at odds with the earnest expression of Tweedy's earlier work.
Of course, it's not like Ghost is a Ramones album by comparison. It's just a near-unimpeachable collection of singular, creatively wrought songs that happen to be consistently original, and a little less out there than the last batch. And yes, it'll surely end up on most every year-end Top 10 list you end up reading. 
1/2
—Scott Harrell
Undermind
PHISH
Elektra
In case you hadn't heard, Phish announced that after 21 years of grooving together, they're calling it quits. Before hearing Undermind, I was inclined to reject it, probably due to my disappointment over the break-up. Then I heard it, and it's been growing and growing on me since. I couldn't deny the love I already felt for the rolling, Who-inspired "Scents and Subtle Sounds" (introduced on last year's summer tour, though divided into two parts on the album) and I immediately fancied the rockin', psychedelic wanderings of "A Song I Heard the Ocean Sing." "Access Me," a bouncy and charming alt-country tune, introduces a bit of bassist Mike Gordon's trademark bizarreness. "Nothing" and "Crowd Control" are the album's catchy pop numbers (i.e., radio-friendly, although Phish has never been a radio band), while "Maggie's Revenge" is gritty, joyous reverberation. Although not as intricate as some of Phish's previous albums, Undermind is produced and mixed flawlessly by Tchad Blake. It's tastefully cohesive, with stimulating lyrics and vocals that are clean and strong — the boys harmonize better here than on any album save Billy Breathes. In the end, I like Undermind for the same reasons that I like Phish: it's eclectic and, above all, a really good time.
—LEILANI POLK
A Boot and a Shoe
SAM PHILLIPS
Nonesuch
Part British skiffle, part Kurt Weill cabaret, part Beatles, part gypsy jazz, Sam Phillips' new one is a genre-dodging delight. The singer/songwriter turned to her husband, T-Bone Burnett, to produce A Boot and a Shoe. He's graced the songs with an understated elegance. With Phillips' acoustic guitar as an anchor, the arrangements are buoyed by a bouncy drum clatter and trimmed with sonic accoutrements like string quartets, unobtrusive electric guitars and the occasional piano or pump organ. Phillips' dusky vocals are consistently intimate, never showy and always suited to fit the song. Her poetic lyrics, elusive and coyly metaphorical, are like water dripping through cupped hands. To wit: "I rode the pain down, got off and looked up/ Looked into your eyes/ The loss opened windows all around/ My dark heart lit up the skies." The disc's primary asset, though, is its richness of melody — 13 songs (clocking in at less than 35 minutes) that, track for track, serve up a timeless charm.
—ERIC SNIDER
20,000 Streets Under the Sky
MARAH
Yep Roc
Critics always spoke of John Mellencamp as a poor man's Springsteen. It's the sort of backhanded compliment that The Coug fought, and eventually overcame, through sheer audience appeal and resistance to compromise. After all, with enough fans by now to populate a few small Midwestern towns (such as those he revered in song), Mellencamp doesn't need critical appeal anyway. Marah, a Philadelphia-based band, could be seen as the latest Springsteen knock-off, as evidenced on their latest release, 20,000 Streets Under the Sky. It didn't help that Springsteen sang backup on a song on the band's previous CD, Float Away With the Friday Night Gods, an experience that — as evidenced by his vocal inflections — frontman Dave Bielanko surely took notes from. But that's not a jab, since this time-tested, rootsy style can be just as powerful in 2004 as it was in 1974. 20,000 Streets drips with unabashed sincerity throughout, with a mix of world-worn grittiness and doo-wop charm that makes lyrics like "Your pepperoni and garlic powder/ Were on my breath in my finest hour" almost seem forgivable. In this urban world, Marah's characters lament mostly about their own indulgences and deficiencies, and the desire to just get out of town for good. (www.yeproc.com)
—MARK SANDERS
This article appears in Jul 1-7, 2004.