Blitzen Trapper
Furr
(Sub Pop)
Blitzen Trapper's fourth full-length ditches the genre-hopping mix-tape approach of previous albums and settles into the realm of damaged pop. The band spins yarns of rambling killers, moon-walking cowboys and lovelorn wolves, laying them over piano and lush harmonies spiked with ripping guitar leads. The songwriting is simpler and more focused, matching the production, and draws heavily from '60s sun-drenched pop exuberance and '70s feel-good grooves. Furr is often foot-stomping fun, evidenced best by the rollicking "Gold for Bread" and "War on Machines," a rolling-down-the-highway breezy number replete with fuzzed-out guitar and cowbell. —Matthew Dube
The Streets
Everything Is Borrowed
(Vice)
Though their previous album focused on coke binges and celebrity girlfriends, Everything Is Borrowed finds The Streets embracing New Age platitudes about healthy living and self-love. On the title track, Mike Skinner raps, "I came into this life with nothing/ and I'll leave with nothing but love." And that's one of his edgier lyrics. Skinner's wicked humor and deft wordplay are mostly AWOL on songs that clumsily address ecology, religion and inner strength. On the plus side, the music is an omnivorous blend of gospel, hip-hop, classical, and two-step garage. It's also pop, featuring huge sing-a-long hooks in every tune. Too bad the only songs that click are about sour relationships and partying. —Jeff Jackson
Ryan Adams & the Cardinals
Cardinology
(Lost Highway)
Ryan Adams is more talented and prolific than most people. He can write a catchy-yet-wise classic-sounding country-tinged tune while tying his shoes. And there's a world of haters out there who resent Adams for his productivity and skill. I used to be a hater, but I've seen the light. So it hurts to admit that Cardinology, which has corny rock-cliche moments, just isn't top-shelf. But with a guy who has bundles of unreleased songs, all you have to do is wait a few months for something better to come along. —John Adamian
Natacha Atlas & the Mazeeka Ensemble
Ana Hina
(World Village)
This album evokes a 1940s movie set in the Middle East in which dodgy characters haunt the smoky shadows of a dark souq. Picture Atlas as the singer whose voice slices through the blue cigarette pall. Her material is culled from film scores, traditional sources, and the back catalogue of famed Lebanese singer Fairuz. Covering Fairuz is akin to a French chanteuse trying to do Edith Piaf— a vain attempt for most, but not Atlas. Her undulating wails could wake the dead, and she has the range of an operatic soprano. Her supple, multi-colored voice allows for bold experiments like a North African take on "Black is the Color," and a Frida Kahlo poem set to music that's one part Mexico, two parts Morocco. —Rob Weir
