If you're at all familiar with jazz bassist Marc Johnson you surely know about his classic 1987 album Second Sight (by his group Bass Desires). On that record Johnson teamed up with Peter Erskine (drums) and the phenomenal guitar duo of Bill Frisell and John Scofield. Second Sight is the kind of record I like to recommend to jazz neophytes. Rather than putting on a lengthy display of chops, the tunes buoy the melodies and motifs with a bunch of snazzy interplay full of humor and energy. Proof that jazz doesn't have to be SeriousMusic™.

All of these years later and Johnson is back at it (OK, he never really went away...check out the fabulous 1998 record The Sound Of Summer Running) with a more traditional jazz lineup and sound: John Scofield on guitar, Eliane Elias (piano), Joe Lovano (tenor sax), Alain Mallet (organ) and the phenomenal Joey Baron on drums. This is a serious group of musicians.

Shades of Jade opens with Johnson and Baron setting up the light groove that will support the angular melody. Scofield and Lovano play that head in smart unison before dropping out to allow for a wide-ranging Elias piano solo. Johnson vamps hard under the piano as Baron (the man...he can destroy the kit with Barondown or Naked City while here he plays just the right notes) drops accents all over the place.

I'm embarrassed to admit that I own no Eliane Elias records. That will be remedied soon as it's become obvious to me that her compositional skills (she wrote or co-wrote six of the ten selections here) go right along with her talents at the piano.

Elias' strengths as player and composer shine on the romantic "Apareceu", where her sultry and passionate solo adds real fire. Her touch and phrasing are just exquisite. There are three more Elias-penned ballads here ("In 30 Hours", "Snow" and "All Yours"). Trust me, that is not too many. I want more.

Johnson, much like the members of his various ensembles, never chooses to flaunt his instrumental prowess (hey, I loved Jaco too, but you know what I mean). That's what makes the bass and drum duet "Since You Asked" so special. While Baron fills out the top end with nothing but cymbals, Johnson plays an Eastern-influenced improvisation over his own pedal tone. Forget all of those "Oh no, not the bass solo!" jokes you heard at band camp, this is it.

A more typical modern jazz sound is on display on the bluesy "Raise". Everyone is allowed to stretch out and vamp as Alain Mallet's organ adds a bit of Wes Montgomery trio feel.

For me, the high point of Shades of Jade is the title cut. Johnson and Elias' sparse modal vamp is slowly fleshed out over the course of over seven minutes by hopeful sax figures, lovely falling leaves piano clusters, attackless guitar tones and endless cymbal accents. Texture...and lots of it.

OK, make that two high points. Shades of Jade closes with the Armenian folk song "Don't Ask Of Me". While Mallett holds down a single low note, Johnson bows the melody on the double bass. It's intimate and majestic.

I'm now recommending that jazz neophytes start with a listen to Shades of Jade. Yes, I know I don't own any Eliane Elias records. You'll just have to trust me on this.

I do believe that there just might be a major error in the Guinness Book of World Records. They're claiming that the loudest animal sound is made by the blue whale.

Hmmmm...not that I want to be a know-it-all or anything but I'm fairly certain that the loudest animal noise ever made was by tenor sax player Peter Brotzmann. This was back in 1986 during the recording of the Last Exit record Koln. The blue whale can emit noises measured at 188 decibels. Hah! Brotzmann's sax was at least 392 bazillion dB. Ted Nugent used to make claims that his guitar could "blow the balls off a charging rhino at twenty paces". Ah, big freaking deal! Brotzmann's sax would make the Nuge run to the store, pick up a new pair of Birkenstocks and head off to aromatherapy class.

But seriously folks...The band Last Exit was a sort of supergroup of improvised jazz. Peter Brotzmann on tenor sax. Sonny Sharrock on electric guitar. The rhythm section (if you can call it that) was comprised of Ronald Shannon Jackson on drums and Bill Laswell on bass.

Koln is a recording of indescribable beauty and brutality. There certainly are quiet moments on it but they just allow you to exhale and maybe prepare yourself for the blast to follow. Laswell and Jackson can set up quite the rhythm bed, Jackson following a sort of twisted take on a blues shuffle and Laswell aggressively punctuating the shifts in time. If you dare, give a listen to the second track, "Brain Damage". It starts out with Jackson playing lightly on the snare while vocalizing in what can only be described as a jazz version of speaking in tongues. The frightening wail of Brotzmann's horn kicks in and severely ratchets up the tension. By the time that Sharrock comes shrieking in, the sound is almost industrial in nature. I tell ya, it's the jazz band in Hell's Cocktail Lounge.

I had a business meeting this morning at 8:30AM and needed something extra-righteous to get me going. Koln was just what the doctor ordered. The funny thing is that this morning was the first time I had a chance to listen to it since the initial purchase last Saturday (the other disc I picked up, just to have something in complete diametrical opposition, was Diana Krall's Girl In The Other Room). So...if you're looking to expand your listening horizons, need to clear the house of unwanted guests or would just like to piss off your neighbors, Koln is for you.

Dreams are funny things. Everybody has them. Whether they're remembered or not is a different story. My dad, for instance, claims to have remembered only one dream over his entire lifetime and that was during a minute or so time segment when his heart raced out of control during a medical procedure. They had to bring him back with the paddles. He dreamt of being chased.

I fall somewhere in the middle. Dreams do happen. I'm aware that they've gone on...but unless something very bizarre occurs overnight, they just dissipate like so much brain mist.

Unless: I'm very, very tired. If a long and particularly difficult week passes and I sort of "fall into" Friday night then there's a good chance that I'll have one of my all-night dreams. These things leave me feeling like I've watched several televisions, DVD players and stereos simultaneously over a six-hour period. I actually get the sensation that all of the dreams have overlapped. Intimate conversations are interrupted by heavy-duty construction vehicles (loaded with Amish woman wearing wetsuits) driving through my living room and up the stairs to attend the string quartet recital scheduled in the guest bedroom for 7:30 PM. It's nonstop, surreal action. I don't try to interpret any of this mess, figuring that it's just the overloaded brain shedding excess mental dandruff.

So, whether you remember your dreams or not, in black & white or color, normal or just plain wacky...the music created by the ensemble that is KTU can provide the score. At the very least, it contains many musical parallels to my own sleepy brain freakouts.

KTU is Kimmo Pohjonen on accordion and voice plus Samuli Kosminen on samples, Trey Gunn (formerly of King Crimson) on Warr guitar and Pat Mastelotto (of Kind Crimson) on 'rhythmic devices'. Together they produce music that manages to be both soothing and sinister. Honestly, how often do you see the words 'sinister' and 'accordion' in such close proximity?

Let's just look at the track "Absinthe" from the KTU release 8 Armed Monkey. It contains the essence of this band in eight-minute twenty-one second microcosm. Gunn's Warr guitar (or is it? you can never tell what with all of these samplers causing such trouble) lets out a spooky wail that is joined by an equally spooky voice. Tibetan Monks on acid, I tell ya. The main motif takes over, a series of three-note passages that is soon filled out by Gunn's low lines and Mastelotto's 'rhythmic devices'. As the groove builds a person might be tempted to think that the festivities have King Crimson-ish or perhaps Projekct 2 quality. Maybe. But then that voice floats in from above and proceeds to take on the conductor/shaman role. After a repeat of the main structures, Gunn takes an industrial and nasty solo, followed by the accordion solo from hell. Just when you think you've got this all figured out the instruments drop away to reveal a KTU take on the gamelon. More ethereal vocals pop in and out over the chiming percussion. All of this slowly morphs back into one final shot at the big groove. It's exhilarating, it's creepy and it ends on a short repeat of Gunn's "Monk Wail" note.

Not all of 8 Armed Monkey plays at such an intense level. "Keho" is a more ambient piece that again uses a mid-song percussion flurry to great effect. "Sineen" rests somewhere in he middle, a floating almost-ballad that might remind me of French folk music if it wasn't for the add samples popping up here and there.

One of the most positive things that can be said about any collection of music is that it's difficult, if not impossible, to classify it. That's definitely the case with KTU. If you're familiar with the 'modern' era of King Crimson you'll be familiar with part of this sonic palette, but that's not the whole story.

Be aware though, that the whole story may have a definite dreamlike quality.

Just a few years ago I spent a very interesting weekend down in Northern Kentucky attending a get together of "flea-powered" (1.5 to 5 watt) tube-amplifier aficionados. On a very, very early Friday morning I loaded myself into my old buddy's Volvo wagon and we headed out from Haverhill, Massachusetts. Some fifteen hours (and only one wrong turn...thank you Triple-A maps) later we arrived at our motel. After sipping a couple of well-deserved beers while waiting for the road vibrations to dissipate, we retired to our rooms and konked out.

The next day was spent at audio-fest host Randy's house meeting many of the folks we'd only known through the Internet. While much beer and fabulous barbeque was consumed, the focus of the day was music. Homebrew speaker systems (my buddy brought his single-driver, Lowther-based cabinets), glowing tubes and high-end CD transports.

Late in the evening it was my turn to share some of the music I'd brought along. The last song played (after offering up the score to American Beauty and some more jazz-oriented things) was a simple guitar and voice ballad. As the song neared its end and all of the instruments fell away, the entire room of by now slightly tipsy and very chatty folks became silent. It was the voice of Lori McKenna singing "Hardly Speaking A Word". Immediately after the song ended, somebody piped up with a "Wow, who was that?!"

Faith Hill had a similar reaction upon hearing McKenna's music. In fact, even though her current record was essentially complete, Hill returned to the studio to record "If You Ask", "Stealing Kisses" and the 'new' title track, "Fireflies". Good for her. The added material gives Hill's record real soul, something I find missing from a lot of modern pop and country music.

Fireflies is supposed to be more of a country record than past Hill releases. While nobody' going to mistake this for a Loretta Lynn album, it does have less of that neo-country sheen. For starters, there's the breezy, banjo and pedal steel-inflected "Sunshine and Summertime", the rockin' assurance that Faith hasn't been affected by fame ("Mississippi Girl"), and the hilarious and swingin' two-step that is "Dearly Beloved", the story of a marriage that'll never last (maybe not even beyond the ceremony.)

Ah, but what would a country record be without a little serious lament? "Ain't Gonna Take It" tells the story of a woman finally ready to make the break from a relationship that's run its course.

Following that are two Lori McKenna-penned tunes that prove to me that Hill may have found her songwriting soulmate (sorry Big & Rich...sorry Tim McGraw...it's the truth.) By the time you make it through McKenna's "Fireflies", you'll see what I'm talking about.

I have to admit that I didn't want to like this record. Hill's previous hits like "Breathe" were pretty but left me feeling empty. This is a kinda pathetic attitude coming from the guy who lost his last chunk of indie cred the day he bought his first Shania Twain CD. But hey, I fell for Twain's "Still The One". Similarly, Hill's "Wish For You" got me right where it counts. Sorry, but that trill in her voice just killed me.

Fireflies finished me off with the only tune dealing in Breathe-esque orchestration. "Paris" may not be a country ballad but it is as sincere as the Lori McKenna songs that put this record over the top.

On the drive back from Kentucky we amused ourselves by taking photos of various roadside oddities. The funny stripjoint sign outside of the truckstop. The sign for "Big Bone Lick State Park". I mean, we have odd stuff up here in New England but nothing to match that...or maybe we're just used to our own introverted weirdness. All I know is that that weekend turned out to be much more than I expected, very much like Fireflies

I don't know about everybody else, but when I was a little kid I used to think that my stuff was cooler than everybody else's stuff. This mostly applied to 'free' things...the Denny McLain baseball game I won at an Eagles Club Christmas party, the whistle that came with my new pair of PF Flyers (for those of you too young to have heard of them, they were these cool sneakers that could make you run faster and jump higher....I'm not kidding....stop laughin' at me!!!), a nice golf ball fished from the edge of the pond across the street from the country club that was up the street from my cousins' house.

Man, I'd get this stuff at home in my room and practically enshrine it on my bookshelf. I'd wake up the next morning, the 'stuff' would still be there (just about giving off it's own glow!) and I'd be thinking that I was the luckiest kid on the planet ('cuz of course I had cooler stuff than my poor friends.)

Many years later, when the music thing kicked in, I had many of the same thoughts about tunes. I'd hear some cool thing on the radio and it was as though I'd discovered...well...I guess it didn't matter what it was since it was incredibly cool and of course nobody else could possible have heard it! I'd hardly discuss it with anybody because, hey, didn't want to let the secret out (obviously, I've outgrown this "keep it a secret" stuff). Probably the first tune I can remember having this effect was "I Gotcha" by Joe Tex. Sure, kinda naughty for a fifth-grader but super cool.

Fast forward through to just a couple of years ago. On a cold night in Oneonta, New York me and an old friend go to the Autumn Cafe to see a group called Mecca Bodega. Man oh man, can these guys lay down a groove. Percussion galore. Swirling guitar arpeggios. Hammered dulcimer. Didgeridoo. I was hooked...and took home a copy of Subway Stories. Again, nearly every time I pull this CD out I feel a little amazed to be luck enough to own such a fantasic (and sh...secret) chunk of fun. Strangely (for me anyway) I never paid much attention to the liner notes. I had absolutely no idea (until just a couple of days ago) that this particular recording was part of an HBO film.

What happened was that I stumbed upon a comment in a Blogcritics post entited What Song Would Represent YOU in a Movie?. Well, I'll be damned...the secret is out! Somebody else has heard of Mecca Bodega.

The difference with music vs. my-cool stuff is that I'm genuinely excited when I share tastes with another fan. Heck, I'm forever evangelizing on behalf of all sorts of music. It's part or what make me me.

Psssst....hey, did you know that they're makin' PF Flyers again?

Now...should I continue to tweak, message and knead this godawful source code into shape?

Or should I go upstairs and write a review?...maybe with a little glass of scotch to go with it.

Maybe the scotch would help with the code-wrangling. Probably not.

Boston Globe writer Steve Greenlee has written an excellent article on jazz improvisor Ken Vandermark.

Check out the article here, and then go buy yourself a copy of Vandermark's Acoustic Machine.

Honest. You can trust me.

On Saturday night, me & stepson #2 had ourselves a little beer and movie-watchin' thing. We didn't really try to pick to completely different movies, it just sorta happened.

The movies? The first was Kurosawa's The Seventh Samurai, the second (after several beers) was Napoleon Dynamite. How's that for, uhm....well, I'm not sure what?

The other day I'm getting my hair cut. Me and Amy The Hairdresser are tossing back and forth what's been up with each of us over the past five weeks (enough time for my hair to grow out from the quarter inch cut length to a less respectable sorta-mess complete with disturbing Eddie Munster widow's peak thingie).

I've been to a wedding down in Newport (torture for me, but that's another story). She's been camping. I've been to see Southside Johnny (she doesn't know who that is, but what the hey, she's only 23). She saw the Steve Miller Band.

The Steve Miller Band?

Oh yea, he's still around. In fact, I think I mighta read an article (Boston Globe, maybe?) about him right around the time Amy went to that show. Miller was talking about his nearly complete lack of celebrity despite years of being in the business. He said that he could probably march into Tower Records, plunk down the Steve Miller box set, paying for it with his Steve Miller credit card...and nobody would notice. He seems happy as all hell and, from what I heard, still puts on one helluva show.

Anyhow, one thing that sorta struck me was that Amy and her husband went to the show with Amy's parents, big fans of Miller. Dang, I'm the same age as her parents. I'm actually old enough to have a 23 year old kid. How the hell did that happen?! (Yea, yea...don't remind me, I can do the math. Hey, I went to college & stuff.)

Well, since it's one of those days where I don't mind celebrating my old-fartdom, why not dust off an old classic? Here it is. Miller's Book Of Dreams got an awful lot of time on my record player way back when. And, for this morning anyway, it's gonna get a bunch more.

Pass the Geritol. What? You don't know what Geritol is? It's this vita....aw, forget it!

Every time you laugh just a little Take One step closer, solving a riddle It echoes...all over the world

Some people say that music and politics don't mix. That songwriters should stay out of it. That they're abusing their celebrity in order to push a message. That they should just shut up.

Every time you open to kindness Make one connection, used to divide us It echoes...all over the world

Like most polarizing issues, there's us and there's them. We...don't like their songs. They don't like ours. I like Lee Greenwood's "God Bless The USA", but those Dixie Chicks should just move to Canada. You love the Stones' "Sweet Neo Con" while...well, you get the idea.

Every time you choose one more morning Goodness or meanness, life has one warning It echoes...all over the world

Sadly, any middle ground viewpoints or alternative paradigms are lost in the dust.

Dar Williams, while her heart may not exactly be in that middle ground, has taken a less confrontational approach. You've been reading the lyrics to "Echoes". It's the heart and soul of her latest record My Better Self. The song (written for Dar by Jules Shear, Rob Hyman and Stewart Lerman) takes a sort of Tibetan prayer flag/all-things-interconnected look at how we might approach the problems of the world. It doesn't point an accusing finger, it just says, "What if?" Dar was so moved by this song that she actually started Echoes Initiative, which supports community-based charities along the road of her upcoming tour.

My Better Self is a political album only in that it occasionally takes time out to look at the world from all sides. "Empire" worries about what the U.S. has become. "Beautiful Enemy" muses on what causes opposition (between people and nations) and the nature of 'fault' (hint: nobody's innocent).

When world concerns are pushed aside, My Better Self winds itself around love (romantic and not) and life (the beginning and the end). The opening "Teen For God" (a long-lost companion to "The Christians & The Pagans") is a story of an adolescent running headlong into religious paradox. "So Close To My Heart", written for and about Dar's child, chronicles the ebb and flow of her creative urges during her pregnancy. "Miss You Till I Meet You" (which, by the way, can make a person tear up just a little) makes you ache for a relationship that has yet to begin. "Comfortably Numb", covered as a duet with Ani DiFranco, gives off a strong vibe of mortality considered. "Two Sides Of The River", on which Dar sings the blues accompanied by Soulive, uses the moving river as a metaphor for how we handle what life has to offer.

Williams uses a more full-band sound on My Better Self, making it more of a pop than folk record (in sound but not in spirit). Sonically, it's gorgeous. Thanks to guests Marshal Crenshaw (the man on guitar...check out his work on the cover of Neil Young's "Everybody Knows This Is Nowhere"), Soulive and Patty Larkin. Dar's nuanced voice has never sounded more at home. Listen to the ethereal "Blue Light Of The Flame" to see what I mean.

When our leader gets the hungry fed food When you just make love inside your bedroom It echoes...all over the world

What seems like the companion piece to "Echoes" is the closing "The Hudson". While not a political statement, it does bring up a person's sense of community. Also resurrected is the idea of humanity's interconnectedness. Plus, with Patty Larkin's harmonies, it's just a beautiful, beautiful song.

Music and politics can and do mix. The sentiments expressed on My Better Self are heartfelt and quite sincere and require no further justification. And really, I can't put my own views out there any better than this:

Every time you love just a little Take One step closer, solving a riddle It echoes...all over the world

So here's the question: just what, exactly, are aging rock musicians supposed to do as the last few calendar pages flip by? Sure, Roger Daltry sang "I Hope I Die Before Get Old". Things are getting interesting now that mother nature has begun to call that bluff.

The other day I had part of a revolving debate with a musically-inclined friend of mine. He likes to toss around the word 'dinosaur' to describe graying rockers, the implication being that they've got no business walking among us. Of course nobody ever 'wins' this debate. The approaches are just too dissimilar. I'm coming from the viewpoint of combined nostalgia and 'autobiographical content'. That is, music provides me with the same powerful memory triggers as does the sense of smell. My debate partner concerns himself with the social and historical context in which the music was first introduced. Any attempt to recreate the past (at, say, a concert) is just a cheap gimmick, profiting on musical ghosts. I point out that, like 'pretension', you've got to know a little about intent to prove any of this.

When I tried to turn the tables, asking him if thirty years from now Aimee Mann (one of his favorite artists) should be 'done', his reply was along the lines of "Absolutely, she should be home playing with the grandkids."

Ouch. On this point we'll never agree.

Now that a group of the crustiest rock dinosaurs have a new record out, we'll have to see if it's time to call the museum curator. After all, depending on whom you ask, the Rolling Stones haven't recorded anything worth listening to since: Some Girls, Exile On Main St., Let It Bleed, the day Brian Jones died.

Well, A Bigger Bang deserves to be placed right alongside the aforementioned albums. The Stones have come up with a bunch of stylistically varied songs executed with (it's about time!!) a minimalist lineup that allows the tunes to breath and let the essence of their thing to take over. There are a few extra musicians here and there, but mostly it's just Mick, Keith, Ronnie and Charlie (and Daryl Jones on bass). It's stripped down and raw. It's right there.

The opener, "Rough Justice", rocks as hard and smart as anything they've done since "Respectable". So good to hear Keith and Ronnie's guitars grinding against each other. Halfway into the chorus and you'll be twistin' that volume knob.

There's lots more grinding to be had here including the swaggering "She Saw Me Coming", "Oh No, Not You Again" (imagine that, Mick's got lady troubles!), "Driving Too Fast", "Dangerous Beauty" and the blistering "Look What The Cat Dragged In".

A Bigger Bang closes with the loping funk of "Infamy". This is the kind of song that the Stones used to own. It lives in that slide area between rock, funk and soul. Mick ties the sway together with some taunting harmonica play. Moving back through the record, there are a few related tunes including the sleazy "Rain Fall Down" and the dark & moody "Laugh, I Nearly Died".

Ballads? Would this be a Stones records without one? A Bigger Bang has two: Mick's "Streets Of Love" and Keith's "This Place Is Empty". It's nice to see the guys drop the macho front and display their thoughtful side. Does the world need more love songs? Right about now, I'd say "yes".

Much has been said about the tune "Sweet Neo Con". Is it about George Bush? Neocons in general? I'd say it's probably a little of both. Personally, I think that too much has been made of this since the true centerpiece of the whole pile turns out to be "Back Of My Hand". It's a steamin' blues rendered by the trio of Mick, Keith and Charlie. Mick plays some sweet slide guitar that conjures a nice back porch feel.

Can old dinosaurs learn new tricks? Do they even have to? On A Bigger Bang, the Rolling Stones surely revisit some old musical stomping grounds...but so what? They're playing with the passion and conviction of bands half of their age. There's no ulterior motives here, just some good old rock and roll. Gray hair and craggy faces don't diminish what this stuff is all about.

Ever have one of those days where a list of seemingly unrelated things to do just pops into your head?

Yea? Well, here's mine.

• Sit on the back porch and read the latest Kurt Vonnegut book
• Eat a tuna sandwich for lunch
• Listen to some Tom Waits
• Kick the soccer ball around with the dog
• Play in an alt.country-type band
• Write a book of reviews
• Read a liberal newspaper and feel smug about it (which of course is redundent because we're all 'elitists', after all)

That's all. It's one of those days.

My favorite time of year has arrived in a big way. The air is crisp and clean. It's a little bit chilly in the morning, warm in the afternoon. It's tough to beat.

The other bit of fall, not really a part of my life anymore, was the start of a new semester at college. I sort of get to experience this vicariously through the step kids, but since they're sorta mute on the details (for instance, do they love the smell of their new books as much as I did? I doubt it) so I have to imagine what goes on.

What I remember about the start of my semesters was of course the book fetish, the music blaring from dorm rooms and the delicious possibilities inherent in all of that new information to be stuffed into my head. I've always been one of those lifelong learner types so even topics like macroeconomics got me going (economics majors, I meant that in the best possible way!).

My very first semester had one negative aspect that was tough to ignore. The change in culture from a 350-kid high school to a university campus with 15,000 students was, well...traumatic. Maybe if I hadn't been so painfully introverted the mental anguish would have been muted a little.

Well I'd be willing to bet that my shy nerd inner drama was nothing compared to what college kids from the New Orleans area have gone through. I'd been thinking about this for a few days until last night, when I listened to a quite moving story on my local public radio station. New Hampshire's NHPR runs a show called The Front Porch which features interviews of local folks. Last night's show had host Shay Zeller speaking with an administrator from Ringe, New Hampshire's Franklin Pierce College as well as two students who are temporary transfers from New Orleans area Dillard and Loyola universities. I hadn't heard about this but apparently Franklin Pierce has opened up twenty free slots for students displace by hurricane Katrina. Very nice. If you want to listen to the radio program just click right here.

So my question this morning is of course what music should accompany this bit of uplifting Katrina news? When we saw Southside Johnny last Saturday they dedicated "Better Days" to all of the folks involved (and a pile of money, via the buckets being passed around, was raised....nothing like appealing to the sentiments of a room fulla drunk people).

This Franklin Pierce story, in stark contrast to the mass of political ugliness that has recently clotted, gave me hope that maybe this country isn't as far gone as I'd begun to think. So....do kids from New Orleans know or even care about who the Meters and Dr. John are? I sure hope so. I also hope that they rebuild. Heck, I've never even been to New Orleans but I do know what it's all about. That culture is in peoples' heads and hearts. No amount of water can wash it away. At least not completely.

So it's "Iko Iko" and "Junko Partner" for the ride in and "Big Chief", "People Get Ready" and "Meters Jam" for the true start of the weekend.

The new Rolling Stones record is fantastic. There's no other word for it. Critics (not me...yet) have been saying things like it's as good as Exile On Main St. and Some Girls. They're not far off the mark. I'm lovin' every second of it.

Review soon. Honest!

This has been a long, hot, sticky and wet summer. Many days of ozone alerts and non-breathable air and buzzing air conditioners. Still, I hate to see it go. As much as I love fall (my favorite season by far) there's always something a little sad about the passing of the sunny season.

But...the inevitable signs have come. Night comes earlier just a little bit each day. It has begun to cool down into the 50's by sunrise. On clear mornings the blue sky takes on that super crisp blue hue. The container of earplugs is is ready (on my desk). The envelope of tickets is waiting at the will-call window.

Yes, one of the true signs of the end of summer around here is the annual arrive of Southside Johnny & the Asbury Jukes at Hampton Beach's Casino Ballroom. For many reasons, this yearly show by the World's Greatest Bar Band causes a flood of musical memories. Back in the old college days, I spent a scary amount of time listening to Asbury Park-related music. Springsteen, Southside, Bill Chinnock (actually a local Maine hero, but E Street band-related), Gary US Bonds. When it came to Friday and Saturday night parties (OK, Thursday night too...), Southside Johnny was our musical drug of choice. Though I do remember many a drunken singalong to "Having A Party", there were an equal number of kinda-sloppy takes on our favorite: "I Remember Last Night". We got pretty good (we thought) at the little time break before the lyrics "...the door flew open". I almost went out of my mind last year when they played it, the first time I've ever heard it at a show.

I'm ready for the show right now, especially since yesterday when I downloaded an alternate mix of the the Jukes classic Hearts Of Stone. This version has Springsteen on vocals and Clarence blowing an enormous sax solo.

So now, on this morning's sweep through the farmland, I'll be blasting Better Days, a truly great studio recording with a bunch of Jersey all-star guests including Max Weinberg, Springsteen, Bon Jovi and long-time Jukes cohort and songwriter Steve Van Zandt. Though I think the live record Reach Up And Touch The Sky provides a better document of what the Jukes are all about, this album is just full of great songs and inspired playing. The guitars snarl, the vocals are soulful and the horns belt you upside the head.

So on Saturday night, while all of you bloggers are hopefully having a grand time at Chez Olsen, I'll be at Hampton Beach, singing my brains out and filling myself, The Wife and both stepsons full of bar band bliss.

Happy end-of-summer everybody!

First off, I've gotta admit that my distrust of piano-based rock music caused me to toss this CD onto the "probably not" pile. For some reason (probably just my contrarian nature) I've became wary of the piano after all of the hoopla surrounding groups that I just did not get: The Ben Folds Five (a few years back) and, more recently, Coldplay.

So when Punches kicked off with the percussive chords of "Bang Theory", my inner anti-Coldplay took over. It's too bad that I let my prejudices have so much say. World Leader Pretend is not Coldplay-lite. They deserve (really, all bands do) at least one unfettered listen.

What World Leader Pretend is is a rock band that allows piano/keys to have equal weight in providing (or supporting) song structure.

For example, the title track's opening keyboard riff and vintage Cure-esque piano figure give way to a descending series of chords outlined by acoustic guitar and piano. Electric guitar takes over just before and during the chorus with crunchy power chords and tension-filed arpeggios.

All is not bombast here as lead singer Keith Ferguson sings a beautiful melody on the ballad "Lovey Dovey" (so good to hear the return of melody to pop and rock music). Local New Orleans singer-songwriter Blair Gimma adds a surprising 4AD-ish twist to the chorus.

However, if bombast is what you're looking for, there's plenty of it. "B.A.D.A.B.O.O.M." rocks hard with Pixies-like intensity. "A Horse Of A Different" plays choppy guitar chords against a rolling arpeggio to great effect. It's the latter song where I first hear the Radiohead connection that others have commented on. Really the only similarity is in Ferguson and Thom Yorke's penchant for elongating their vocal lines. World Leader Pretend though, is much more direct in the lyrics department. No arty opaqueness to the wordsmithing here.

One left turn (or sorts) in the program comes with the 8-minute "A Grammarian Stuck In A Medical Drama". Much like the mini-suites so common of early art rock bands (King Crimson and Yes come to mind), this song builds its story by combining several quite different segments: quiet and ambient foreboding opening bit, deep and ominous sweeping guitar chords, sparsely sung verses with that opening atmosphere returning underneath, choruses with soaring, chiming guitar (almost, but not quite, stealing from the Book-of-Edge). At first I thought that the tune was an 'oddball' in the mix. Repeated listens made me realize that they'd created a suite out of many of the textures presented elsewhere on Punches.

So hopefully I've pushed my musical prejudices aside for a while. I hate to think of genuinely good music slipping away due to that kind of intellectual laziness.

Hmmm...maybe I'd give Coldplay another listen...