ShareThisBy CHUCK CAMPBELL
Sunday, November 05, 2006
"FUTURESEX/LOVESOUNDS," Justin Timberlake (Jive)
The women of pop have taken some transitional journeys lately. Nelly Furtado went sexy, Christina Aguilera went retro, and Beyonce went for a ride with manipulative producers.
Justin Timberlake does a bit of all three on "FutureSex/LoveSounds," his follow to 2003's "Justified."
Producer Timbaland, the force behind Furtado's "Promiscuous" summer breakout, thoroughly works over Timberlake for the singer's latest outing, sometimes adding his own gruff vocals to the mix (as he did with Furtado). And like "Promiscuous" before it, the electronic-blitzed first single "SexyBack" wasted no time charging to No. 1.
Timberlake is hardly recognizable on "SexyBack," his drastically modulated voice plugged into the elusive flow. That vocal ambiguity carries over onto other tracks: While the former 'N Sync star was focused on mimicking Michael Jackson on "Justified" (their falsettos are a close match), this time he's also referencing Prince, George Michael, Jamiroquai and even his former boy band.
Soundwise, "FutureSex/LoveSounds" is primarily a dance album as Timbaland puts Timberlake center stage in his electro-shocked theater built on stirring percussion, old-school synth riffs and hard-bumping beats.
The singer musters a few vocal moves to occasionally justify the producer's efforts. He has a lust attack on the predatory title song, musters soul for a banging "Damn Girl" featuring will.i.am and pulls duty as a serviceable crooner on the piano-based closing track, "(Another Song) All Over Again."
Yet for an album swollen by overlong songs, "FutureSex/LoveSounds" feels incomplete. The back-to-back sluggish mini-musicals "Lovestoned" and "What Goes Around ... Comes Around" send the release into 15 minutes of mid-album limbo, and both Timbaland and Timberlake essentially sleepwalk through the last few tracks before the closer.
Timberlake seems to be hedging his bets here, courting an uncertain audience with studio trickery and a shifty persona. And notwithstanding its stylish flare-ups, "FutureSex/LoveSounds" is fairly tepid for a club album and fairly tame for a lusty one.
Rating (five possible): 2-1/2
"TALK TO LA BOMB," Brazilian Girls (Verve Forecast)
The Brazilian Girls have cornered the market on cool, if not consistency.
The New York-based quartet follows its 2005 self-titled, sophisticated party album with a just-as-urbane "Talk to La Bomb," though the newer release has a more metropolitan tone in lieu of its predecessor's tropical air.
Like last time, instrumentalists Didi Gutman (keyboards), Aaron Johnston (drums) and Jesse Murphy (bass) give a hard electronic push to their sound, but with the help of a slew of horn players, a percussionist and producers Mark Plati and Ric Ocasek, there are more pronounced elements of beatnik jazz, plus a punkish rock edge.
Singer Sabina Sciubba is down for whatever, singing with the flow when it suits her and against the grain when her frequently detached vocals don't fit the mix. Although she musters a feisty side to step up to the techno-a-go-go opener "Jique," for example, Sciubba seems more at home lounging atop the incandescent vibe of "Nicotine."
Most of "Talk to La Bomb" is a study in contrasts, with the singer's smooth voice holding steady against the heavy reverb and elevating intensity of "Sweatshop," the jazz-improv opening of the title track giving way to pre-apocalyptic art-rock, and a shimmering chorus washing away the choppy riffs of "Last Call."
The shifts and shuffles of the release give it a disjointed feel _ to the point that some tracks (including the fractured "Never Met a German" and jumpy "Tourist Trap") don't invite repeated listens. However, the restless "Talk to La Bomb" generally draws the listener onboard, whether it's dishing out theatrics on the sound phantasm "Le Territoire" or fusing genres to create an "All About Us" suitable for an afternoon espresso break at a cafe or a late-night cooldown at a nightclub.
With "Talk to La Bomb," the Brazilian Girls seem to have traded "settings" _ exchanging a breeze-kissed sunny beach for a chilly, neon-lit city street. And in this band's hands, both locales are fashionable.
Rating: 3-1/2
"GRAVITY WON'T GET YOU HIGH," The Grates (Dew Process/Cherrytree/Interscope)
The Grates hail from far away Brisbane, Australia, but their sound will feel right at home to American fans of woman-fronted, offbeat pop/rock bands from the last couple of decades, including Le Tigre, Rasputina, Veruca Salt, The B-52's, X, The Go-Go's, Tuscadero and Fleming & John.
Party animals Patience Hodgson (vocals), John Patterson (guitar) and Alana Skyring (drums) fidget, scurry and explode on their full-length debut, "Gravity Won't Get You High." With Modest Mouse producer Brian Deck and Interpol mixer Peter Katis at the boards, the trio restlessly jaunts through the 14 adventures that are the tracks on "Gravity."
The higher the energy, the more pointed the payoff, whether it's the punky sass that guides the rollicking showpiece "Howl" ("Howl for you - oo/Howl for you/Howl for you- oo," exclaims Hodgson), the vigorous bounce underneath "Trampoline" ("Use your bed like a trampoline/I said, 'Higher! Higher!' ") or the thrashing "Feels Like Pain" that escalates into a rock storm.
Yet there's also a raw, "why-not?" sense of experimentation on "Gravity Won't Get You High" that yields rewards greater than an adrenalin rush.
"19 20 20" is an eccentric, ska-ly tribute to a he-man, "Nothing Sir" is an emphatic waltz, and "Inside Outside" is a manic square-dance-style song replete with expletives. Also, "Sukkafish" is an unlikely hybrid of Americana and hard-core-rock thanks to its blend of banjo, fiddle and driving electric guitar.
Ironically, the mercurial Hodgson is the glue for The Grates' scattershot sound. Although a singer who employs her voice into trembling fits and shouts might seem an unlikely force to hold anything together, it's the charisma behind her delivery that serves as the band's ultimate signature as she dashes through lines like, "I'll never believe the truth in you/Lies are much more fun."
"Gravity Won't Get You High" is weighed down by a filler-feeling fade with its last few tracks, though by that point Hodgson and her mates have already been through the stratosphere.
Rating: 4
