Donovan
The Concert: Live in L.A.
(MVD Visual)
Watching the DVD of a 2007 concert by pop icon Donovan is like finding a 40-year-old Polaroid—the colors have faded and the luster is gone. The former Flower Child turned meditation guru still plays an energetic guitar and his recordings from the 1960s and '70s have rightly become standards but, at 62, he can neither reach the dulcet tones which made his songs special nor sustain the vocal quaver that ingrained them in our psyches with chant-like resonance. Now he croaks his way through his greatest hits, encourages the audience to sing along and drags out David Lynch, Mike Love, and his under-talented daughter for cameos. It's a Baby Boomer nostalgia trip straight out of a PBS fundraiser, but for a quality musical experience one should dust off the originals. —Rob Weir
Foals
Antidotes
(Sub Pop)
This tennis-obsessed young band from Oxford, England has shared interests in minimalism, aggressive sonic textures, dance music and pop. The hype is excessive, but Foals deserves your interest. The singer draws out every syllable with a petulant delivery. The vocals are the least interesting element. The music is turbulent, unsettled, itchy-twitchy, with expertly contrasted competing guitar patters and driving beats. You won't hear many chords. Lines are pecked out, high and icy, like Morse code. —John Adamian
Snoop Dogg
Ego Trippin
(Doggystyle/Geffen)
Everybody loves Snoop Dogg, but he's been dangerously over-exposed for years. No one gets excited about a new Snoop record. His new one offers good vibes and interesting stylistic digressions, but there's clearly nothing on the line for Snoop, and it shows. "Sexual Eruption" is a fun '80s booty funk exercise that dances between sinister sincerity and playful irony. "My Medicine" melds laid-back G-funk rap with '50s country swagger. Everything else is fine, and that's good enough for both Snoop and America. —Adam Bulger
Kevin Ayers
The Unfairground
(Gigantic Music)
Somewhere between the zenned-out cool of Leonard Cohen and the lush, elaborate neo-countrypolitan orchestration of Lambchop, reclusive British psychedelic rock pioneer Kevin Ayers (formerly of Soft Machine) emerges from a long hiatus on his latest record. Ayers is aided here by Phil Manzanera and members of Teenage Fanclub and Neutral Milk Hotel. It's sort of an all-star lineup, and with that crew, one might reasonably expect this outing, Ayers' first in years, to be more, well, odd than it is. —John Adamian
