Pearl Jam - Backspacer (2009)

For those who know me, this statement will undoubtedly rip your flesh like weasels who had too much Buddy Holly and vodka. The last time Pearl Jam released a semi-decent album, I was a freshman in high school. (It was Vitalogy for those who don't know my age.) So I say with my rancorous cod-piece lodged squarely between my zoobies that I fully and eagerly intended on writing a Two Minutes Hate for this album and sadly cannot sate my inner Freudian wish-fulfillment fantasies. It's pretty good -- really. Part of my disdain for Pearl Jam for the last half portion of my life has been with their politics -- which is to say, their music oozed complete self-righteous seriousness, and the music fucking sucked. Like assfucker sucked. Like no better than Britney Spears sucked. Like you would rather watch Jack Bauer save Los Angeles from its 35th nuclear attack sucked. Read my previous two album reviews if you don't believe me, where the band found itself playing like they read the word torpor so many times on a piece of paper that it put them into one.

This album sounds like they had a ton of fun making it. It doesn't reek of self-seriousness and it doesn't sound tired, either. Amazing, right? I really dig the brevity as well (36 minutes or so). It kind of unfolds pretty quickly and then it's over. (Authorial interjection: Master Cianan, did I just hear you 3,000 miles away yelling, "Well, thank God for that!") I really like "Got Some" and "Supersonic," two fairly punk-like rockers and "Amongst The Waves," a nice sludgy ballad. "Just Breathe" may be my favorite song, and it'd probably surprise you to hear that it's actually just an acoustic love song with some strings -- it just sounds beautiful and I like it. So there. Of course, being the disaffected twaddling twit that I am who must find some fault with everything, I will say this: every Pearl Jam album (except for Ten) has at least one song that is so odious, so terrible, so toxic to the greater good of humanity that the band, the producers, the fans and any other associated party involved with the continued existence and preservation of that song should be violently reprimanded (myself included); and that song is "The Fixer" -- a most retarded example of what kind of music not to make. Otherwise, enjoy. B-

Arctic Monkeys - Humbug (2009)

Who the fuck are Arctic Monkeys? Extraordinarily over-hyped British band from a few years back that released a fairly brazen freshman record and a solid sophomore effort. Humbug? Third record. Getting better? Yes. The real interesting thing about this album is that Josh Homme (Queens Of The Stone Age, Kyuss, etc.) produced it and apparently encouraged these chaps to play like Kyuss -- that is to say, for no sake but for the music and for themselves. As a result, the album goes so far astray from what they've done before that it almost sounds like a new band. But by far the most impressive thing about this album is the fact that it is sluggish. Sluggish like a rainy dumpy Saturday afternoon stuck inside with no munchies and a dull but poignant hangover. Anyone heard their first two albums? Lotsa lotsa energy, quirky wordplay and snark. This? A fucking strange moody atmospheric drag. But a good one. Enough to lull you into a half-snooze but still retaining the chops to knock your ass backwards. If this were the 70s, it'd be grouped with "psychedelia." Except this isn't weird because of the drugs; this is weird because -- because they're weird? Or because Josh Homme produced it -- the guy whose last album featured Bulby the light bulb and whose website mailing list reads "Let Us Spam You"? You be the judge. "Fire And A Thud" is probably the only song I don't like -- perhaps "thud" more appropriately crystallizes my feelings towards it. Otherwise, my faves are "Potion Approaching," a great mid-tempo stomp that suddenly comes to a complete boozing crawl, "Crying Lightning" for its bass groove and choppy guitar lines, and the only frenetic song here, the punky "Pretty Visitors" -- my god! -- one of the lyrics is "What came first: the chicken or the dickhead?" 'Nuff said? B-

Warchild, Morgan Memorial Park, August 30, 2009

Today is Tuesday, and on this particular Tuesday you get a twofer. Whether you would have gotten lesser or equal value if I had just written one longer review is beyond my mental pay-grade. For some background, Warchild is a Jethro Tull tribute band from New York who replicates the sound and look of the original Jethro Tull circa 1970 or thereabouts; the lead singer/flautist dressed and looked somewhat similar to Ian Anderson, but his eerily similar voice, his excellent flute playing and his spot-on impressions of Anderson's physical stage mannerisms are what really sealed the deal. The rest of the band was equally note-for-note in regards to Tull's catalog, and overall, despite the wind problems completely fucking some of the sound, I was pretty impressed. The two hour set, in no apparent order, pardon my memory, consisted of: "Aqualung," "Teacher," "Locomotive Breath," "Cross-Eyed Mary," "Thick As A Brick," "Living In The Past," "Bourée," "Sweet Dream," "Skating Away On The Thin Ice Of A New Day," "Bungle In The Jungle," "Too Old To Rock 'N' Roll, Too Young To Die," "Nothing Is Easy," "Minstrel In The Gallery," "War Child," and a whole bevy of other tunes, some of which even I didn't recognize. And yes, they did "Thick As A Brick," but no, it was only a partial. Fucking righteous enough for me. B-

Underworld - All Points West Music Festival, Liberty State Park - August 8, 2008

August 8, 2008? Yeah, I know. Ok, here's the explanation, really. A few days ago, I bought a $1500 20oz Pepsi. This particular Pepsi, unlike the stock market, jumped from its initial price of $2 when I accidentally spilled it all over my laptop, thus destroying it (immediate shutdown, internal fans blowing, frothy brown liquid seeping out the USB ports.) So what does a mad hatter do? He dismantles the thing to salvage anything of importance, remounts the hard drive to another computer and saves the data for future use on his now current and brand spank-me-daddy new laptop. Why I am telling you this? Because, well, restoring your data engenders this habit of perusing random files, and therefore, my tortured readers, I found this review, which I didn't post during my Radiohead lovefest way back when. Truth be told, Underworld deserves some lovin' anyway, even if what I'm about to post below is very short. Oh, and I promise some new content soon; I'm being a procrastinating self-aggregating information junkie. Pffft.

Playing right before Radiohead kind of sucks. When almost an entire festival shows up right before the main attraction, you've potentially got a very impatient audience. Underworld didn't seem to care, blitzing everyone with an hour-long barrage of carefully selected intensity. Each song, to its sometimes detriment, was about nine or ten minutes apiece. I say detriment because this stuff, while very good, is still heady and extremely hard to listen to back to back to back. Repetition only goes so far sometimes without much variation. That said, there were several moments of excellence, namely the inflatable white columns amidst the ferocious "Two Months Off," singer Karl Hyde's frantic hand-held camera histrionics to the madness of "Cowgirl" and my favorite boom boom beat in "Jumbo." Oh, "Shudder/King Of Snake" was fucking wicked, too. Very good song selection from their catalog, perhaps not sequenced quite right and definitely could have benefitted from the evening dark rather than daylight. B-

Here's most of the setlist:

Glam Bucket
Cowgirl
Pearl's Girl
Jumbo
Two Months Off
Born Slippy .NUXX
Shudder/King Of Snake
Moaner

Ella Fitzgerald - Ella In Berlin: Mack The Knife (1960)

I love scat. It tastes great in tea, looks good atop antique furniture and is extremely amusing when practicing pivot points from G Major to A minor. Most of all, it's best when it comes from the great Ella Fitzgerald, one of my favorite singers of any genre. And if there's anything Ella can do, it's scat. Mid-tempo scat, improvisational scat -- hell, Ella is like the Eddie Van Halen of scat; she can do it without looking like she's exerting any kind of effort, and that's simply unheard of for some people. Can you imagine if she tried "Eruption?"

So why so much ado about this live performance? Well, cutting aside the numerous applause tracks, this is a fairly solid collection of some of Ella's most known songs and includes one of the most memorable renditions of "Mack The Knife," in which Ella completely forgets the words and must improvise on the spot with some amusing filler, notwithstanding her subsequent spot-on imitation of 'ol Satchmo. I mean, wowzas. Also of particular interest is "How High The Moon" -- possibly featuring the best scat solo ever and with some additional improvised melodic renderings. This is not to say you should listen to it just for the scat; Ella's versions of "Just One Of Those Things" and "The Lady Is A Tramp" focus more on Ella's vocal interpretations than her ability to form wordless strings of syllables. And for that, I suggest you listen to them, especially if you happen to be one of those jazz snobs who feel scat has no place in real jazz. I mean, really, fuck you. B-

The Free Spirits - Out Of Sight And Sound (1966)

It is said that wikipedia is a somewhat accurate barometer of the relative ubiquity of a band, or writer, or anything, for that matter. Suffice to say that in reviewing the Free Spirits, I am doing so in favor of pulling them out just a touch from otherwise obfuscated obscurity. Originally recommended to me by Master Cianan, himself a treasure trove of rarified goodies, I was completely floored when I heard this album. Everyone by now realizes my obvious bias towards free-wheeling jazz and my sincere disgust in tired blues licks, so it will surprise no one that I like this album. The best way to describe it musically, I think, is that it's a fairly standard collection of pop songs from the 60s in the vein of the Fab Four gone horribly awry -- that is to say, they pissed all over them and added some snazzy brass backdrop. The first song, "Don't Look Now (But Your Head Is Turned Around) is an explosive rock-jazz fusion with the most insane saxophonist. No idea who he is, but he plays over and around everything like he's Robin Goodfellow; and yet when he's not doing so, he's fitting nicely in all the right places. In fact, I can't really think of a piece of music that isn't purely jazz where the saxophone seems more important to the music than any other instrument. Seriously. My faves: "Bad News Cat," "Cosmic Daddy Dancer," "Sunday Telephone" and the aforementioned "Don't Look Now." Oh, and the sitar on "I'm Gonna Be Free" is rad. Check this out if you can. B-

Robert Fripp & Andy Summers - I Advance Masked (1982)

I would first like to mention to those who believe I make sense sometimes that I am soon to be on a very lengthy hiatus in which I may have little to no internet access and therefore am relinquishing control of my site to the perfunctory authority of automatic blogging. Having written numerous reviews in recent days to prepare for such a situation, I therefore apologize fore and aft, hither and thither, etc & etc, for not being able to, perhaps, join in our sometimes rabid discussions. Please know that I have ensured as much insanity for your future reading pleasure (every week, I promise) and hope that I can randomly visit and play the elder berry to your succulent snark. Bob and Cianan: please play nice. So there. Ahem.

The problem with having such disparate but equally excellent guitarists work together is that it's like taking two complete meals and combining them. Suppose that, as an example, Andy Summers is Yorkshire pudding and Robert Fripp is moussaka -- would you want to eat those things together? Well, I would, because in this instance, it's really good. Don't believe me? The title track is proof enough, where Andy does what he's known for doing, which is completely understated textural melodies; and Fripp, true to form, snakes around everything like a blind arpeggio monster. "New Marimba" features a similarity in tone to what Fripp was currently doing with KC and is positively sinister sounding; "Hardy Country," in contrast, sounds very lush and beautiful. In fact, much of the music -- all instrumental, if you couldn't have guessed -- is much more impressionistic and mood-oriented than posing as cohesive, recognizable song types. This is not to say this an album of egocentric noodling, but that the bridge-chorus format many are used to is not present here. That said, there is an interweaving of short little vignettes in-between the longer suites ("Under Bridges Of Silence," "Lakeland/Aquarelle," et al) and I personally find little to embrace in them. Since much of the good in the album comes from the meshing of Fripp and Summers, not fleshing out anything for more than a few minutes doesn't excite me as much. Additionally, given some context, it seems that Andy felt the need to exercise some ideas he couldn't while with the Police, and Fripp -- well, he does whatever the fuck he wants, so this is de rigeur for him. Music is music, after all. B-

The Verve - Forth (2008)

I have my reservations about anyone, musician or not, who takes a long extended absence from anything, especially at a relative zenith in their craft, returns and immediately resumes chugging like nothing had ever happened. Ever shoot a firearm accurately? Learn a foreign language proficiently? Finally get sweep picking down? Now stop for about a decade and then resume where you left off for the fuck of it. This is more or less what the Verve did, except they really didn't quit music -- just each other. When I did this with guitar, I was duly impressed at how righteously horrible I was. The reason I say this is because hopefully you are following my thought process -- which is to say, if you've been reading in-between the lines, that I'm unconsciously hyping this album up for myself. Shall I be disappointed? Yes and no.

Yes, because a part of me wanted this album to be better than Urban Hymns. Every album they made got successively better -- why should this be an exception? No, because this is still a pretty good album, for a variety of reasons, none of them being mind-blowing, but still reasons nonetheless; and besides, these fellows sure seem damn happy doing it. The shortest song, an anthemic ballad called "Valium Skies," is 4:34; everything else clocks in well above five, six, seven and even eight minutes. Why, that is such horrid poo-poo nonsense! Who do they think they are making me listen for that long? Because the Verve have always been best when allowed to stretch; and within these songs, they do just that, peeling away an amalgam of sound layers in a loose, semi-jam fashion very akin to a live setting. I always felt like the Verve were the visual equivalent of playing with crayons: ignoring lines, scribbling oodles of non-linear color whilst hand-smearing their creations with cookie crumbs and without a care in the world.

Just a few quick remarks: "Sit And Wonder" is the opener and a better song couldn't have been picked to start the album. I think it's highly reminiscent of Northern Soul material, but still very good. "Love Is Noise" is an iffy track, partially because this is quite frankly a Richard Ashcroft solo album leftover; that synth is kind of aggravating and it feels like -- Chris Martin. Nuff said, for those who know me. "Noise Epic" has such a furiously good ending. "Rather Be" is neurotically addictive, and "Judas" is a damn beautiful song. All in all, a pretty good return to the music scene with a disc closer to Storm In Heaven than Urban Hymns, but regardless, welcome back boyos. B-

Gnarls Barkley - The Odd Couple (2008)

Gnarls Barkley is an interesting kind of anomaly, methinks. Their hit single, "Crazy" made them the topic of household chatter overnight, and yet, they didn't become one-hit wonders like everything else does nowadays. In fact, their debut album, between singer Cee-Lo and multi-everything mofo Danger Mouse, was actually pretty solid. I would use the word inventive, but I think I really mean they had more ingenuity than the creation of something truly inventive, simply because they're a kind of wild hybrid of older and newer musical styles; that and Cee-Lo has quite a distinct voice.

So what do these guys do for a second album? They switch it up, naturally. For one, since I am an album purist -- despite this fractured age we live in -- I listen to every album as both an album and as a collection of songs with individual merits. Therefore, let me speak of flow. Great albums have it; lesser ones as well. The Odd Couple does not have it; in fact, the upstart start-stoppage is pretty jarring and only highlights that this is a collection of songs, not a cohesion of musical ideas, weird or traditional. That's my biggest complaint.

I really love "Going On," (especially how it simply slows down to a descenting chant) "Blind Mary" and "Run (I'm A Natural Disaster)." In fact, the cheery upbeat tempo and hearing -- "Run children; run for your life; run away" -- is supremely amusing. I'm the Mad Hatter for good reason, you know? Personally, I prefer to eat children before they run away. In this sense, I'm the Big Bad Wolf. I'll huff and I'll puff and "A Little Better", "Who's Gonna Save My Soul," "A Charity Case" and "Surprise" are good tunes as well. Despite no "Crazy" equivalent, expect to hear a mixture of organ, vintage crackling and soul train camaraderie going on here with Master Cee-Lo at the helm. Like the last album, I just don't have a taste for it all. B-

Pink Floyd - Atom Heart Mother (1970)

Like Obscured By Clouds, Atom Heart Mother is in the unenviable position of being sandwiched between two better albums -- in this case, Ummagumma and Meddle, respectively. Consisting of five songs, the last of which spans an interminable 13 odious minutes of your life, Atom Heart Mother is not for the easy-eared. First things first, "If" is an endearing little song -- not very inspiring -- but still very good. "Fat Old Sun" is nice and contains a vintage Gilmour solo -- which is to say, amazing; and "Summer '68" is my favorite piece on the album, despite the fact that you'd lose a bet over its authenticity as Pink Floyd; it simply doesn't sound like them. This brings us to the bookends, "Atom Heart Mother" and "Alan's Psychedelic Breakfast" -- two mental flights to Mars via a hallucinatory conduit. "Alan's Psychedelic Breakfast" is really awful stuff. The absolute udder of the psychedelic scene. Colorful trash, as it were. Or maybe it's de rigueur; what do I know? Listen to it at your own peril. Jeff has a much favorable review for those interested. B-

Talking Heads - Little Creatures (1985)

For being a band frequently described as inaccessible, this record surely has some nice stuff on it. No, I'm not a fan, and I don't concentrate nearly as hard as I do when listening to some of my other recurring faves, but this album is worth a listen every now and again. "And She Was" is a delicious little number that almost leads you into thinking it will remain the awful dreck that tainted nearly everything imaginable during the most egregious musical decade known to man or animal-- fuck you Depeche Mode; you give me daily nightmares -- but it doesn't. "Give Me Back My Name" is pretty creepy. I don't know if the Oxford lads from Radiohead listened to this and wrote "Climbing Up The Walls," but I'm still unsettled by both. "Creatures Of Love" is an alien twang song that somehow works. "I've seen sex and I think it's okay." Maybe it's the way David Byrne sings that ties it all together, I don't know. He's possibly the first lead vocalist who sounds like he's presiding over a demented circus that can somehow carry a tune. "Road To Nowhere" has what sounds like an accordion, I think. I like accordions; you should too. Eat your clam chowder. Ignore tracks 5-8 and enjoy otherwise. B-

Radiohead - In Rainbows (2007) (second disc)

Since I've already reviewed In Rainbows, I suppose I must review the second disc from the boxset as well. The second disc is comprised of eight tracks, two of which are actually one-minute one-offs of experimental noise ("Mk 2') and a reprise-like coda of "Videotape" ("Mk 1"). Of the remaining songs, I could give a fupenny tuck for "4 Minute Warning" and also find "Up On The Ladder" and "Go Slowly" to be fairly engaging, but not terribly exciting stuff -- although still better than most tripe you'll find on popular albums today. The real meat and matters lies in the remaining three numbers: "Down Is The New Up," "Last Flowers" and "Bangers + Mash." Wowzas people, these are really really good. "Last Flowers" is a mostly piano-driven piece and is, I think, one of Radiohead's more beautiful songs. The recording of this entire album clearly showcases the fact that they wished for Thom's voice to be heard much more clearly. "Down Is The New Up," which was aloft in the rumor bin as a possible name for the album, also features a great bit of piano, with some similar up-tempo beats from "15 Step." "Bangers + Mash" is a song I wished was on the regular LP, but have conceded to the band's reasoning that none of these songs fit musically with the rest of the album. It's the funkiest thing these fellows have ever done and a wee bit different than when I originally heard the song here. Still, it's really nice to see Thom playing the drums while he sings and Jonny nastily striking at his guitar. All in all, B-

T-Rex - Electric Warrior (1971)

Marc Bolan is said to have contributed more to the essence of glam rock than Bowie; whether such an inherently useless platitude can ever be proven is really secondary to the fact that Electric Warrior was certainly an important album at the time. If I were to describe the album using only one word, such a word would be "misleading." There's a certain casual frankness and feel to the singing and playing in just about every place on this record -- which is not to say it's lazy or laid-back, but that it exerts itself in such a fashion as to shed any predispositions of concern -- seemingly. Such a casual feeling does not denote a lack substance, though, because while the album does refashion older musical styles and whose entrance into our ears appears welcoming, this is not actually the case, as Bolan's vocal tones and lyrics indicate a much more savage mockery than a simple regurgitation of older styles and moods. Perhaps his previous work with fairies provides us with the wherewithal to make such erroneous assumptions.

Regardless, for those without such concerns for what music means, or expresses, and could care a whit for this or that, let's get under the hood, shall we? "Mambo Sun" opens the album, a delicate little mid-tempo romper with some very nuanced guitar licks. Much of the album, in fact, is not typical 70s guitar-heavy, to include the burgeoning glam movement the album was to help foster, and instead relies more on the guitar notes being in just the right places. This, of course, is in deep contrast with the fill-as-many-notes-in-the-measure music that was quite popular at the time -- not that I'm complaining about that, either. "Bang A Gong (Get It On)" is a well-known song with a splendid (and much copied) riff, a riveting chorus and some brass to add sass. "Jeepster" is a bit of a throwback to the rock style of the 50s but with an updated swagger. "Cosmic Dancer" is a warbling string-tinged folk ditty with some great electric guitar interspersed. Other notables: "Rip Off" and "The Motivator." Forgettables: "Girl"; "Monolith"; "Planet Queen"; "Lean Woman Blues"; "Life's A Gas." B-

Probot - Probot (2004)

So Dave Grohl is a headbanger. Cool. The former Nirvana/current Foo Fighters frontman lays down this heavy set featuring a different metal vocalist from the bands who've inspired him and also decides he wants to play all the instruments (except for a few instances). I'm going to begin first with the not-so-great. I've noticed that, generally, bands begin albums quite strongly and then cop a lemming and walk off a cliff. (This obviously does not apply to great albums, just other middling affairs.) Probot is guilty of the same. Sure enough, "Centuries Of Sin" opens the album with a boom, followed by the excellent "Red War" with Max Cavalera. Need more? Well, no true heavy set is complete without Lemmy and he does vocal duties for "Shake Your Blood," a sweet little crash and thrasher. "Access Babylon" then gives us Mike Dean and in true COC fashion, this awesome song is short, brutal and ends in less than 90 seconds. So short, you can hear it in its entirety.

Yet after "Silent Spring," I was quite disappointed with the first blah track, "Ice Cold Man," featuring Kim Thayil, formerly of Soundgarden, on guitar. "The Emerald Law" kind of resumes the "this is a great album" pace, but then we're let down again with "Big Sky," "My Tortured Soul" and "Sweet Dreams," featuring King Diamond. Even the "hidden" track "I Am The Warlock" with Jack Black is not good. Jack Black has great energy, but he adds a whole lot of camp to everything, and he really has no place among these other fellows, friend of Dave Grohl or not. Perhaps I'm just bitter Tom Araya from Slayer couldn't participate. Perhaps I'm even more irritated at the continued inclusion of the "hidden" track, an overused and stupid parlor trick -- what, do they think I'm not going to notice that the last song ends at four minutes but the track is fifteen minutes long? Otherwise, the first four songs take the cake, for sure. B-

Heart - Dreamboat Annie (1976)

When asking what to review next, April expressed displeasure at my lack of "chicks" (her words, ladies) in my posts. I dig chicks; I really do. Predominately, they possess inordinately superior vocal abilities over their lesser halves. Ella. Janis. Fiona. Sadly, for brilliant technical vocalists, such as Mariah Carey or Whitney Houston, they've trapped themselves in an unfortunate pop format wherein the melody, lyrics and particularly that shitty studio accompaniment don't exactly inspire the kind of performances you would expect from them. Now, the Wilson sisters -- they hold a very special place in my heart (no pun intended) simply because they'll bake you a fucking cake and let you eat it with your hands. They've got a great set pipes and Nancy can shred without abandon, on acoustic or electric. Ok, they obviously like Zep, but that's not too bad because they sing too well to imitate Plant's verbal gyrations and drooling moans.

Unfortunately, for all their strengths, inconsistency plagues most of Heart's albums, and it differs no more or less than on Dreamboat Annie. It starts well enough with the FM staple "Magic Man," a kicking song that the press subsequently used to dub the sisters as satanic witches. Geez. The second song, "Dreamboat Annie (Fantasy Child) begins the first third of the Dreamboat Annie suite and it's a nice segue into Heart's best song, "Crazy On You." Here's the thing, though: if you're a loser and use the radio as your musical feeding ground, shame on you. In the past thirty years you've had time to buy the LP, the 8-track, the cassette, the CD, the digital files -- so shame on you, you rock and roll poseurs. What I'm getting at is this: the radio version of "Crazy On You" completely omits the first 35 seconds of this phenomenal acoustic section.

You would know that if you weren't such a poseur and were content with buying greatest hits packages. The next song, "Soul Of The Sea" is a dud. Skip it. Then listen to "Dreamboat Annie," which continues the melody of the suite with some changes and includes some nifty banjo playing. "White Lightning & Wine" is a great song, too, but it's depressing, because when I listen to the album, after this song is where I shut it off. The remaining four tracks are weak and aren't worth your time. The last song is "Dreamboat Annie (Reprise)" and you'd think if you liked the suite so far, you'd like this one, right? Well, not so. The added piano and ethereal quality makes it feel way too poppy and annoying. A solid band with the right recipe and ingredients -- the cake just doesn't turn out good all the time. B-

A quick afterthought: check out Ann and Nancy doing a cover of Zep's "Battle Of Evermore" here. This is amazing. Sorry Zep; their version totally kicks your ass.

Frank Sinatra - It Might As Well Be Swing (1964)

A few admonitions: I don't review collections or compilations; Sinatra simply has too many releases (even without compilations) to account for; I am less knowledgeable of voice than I am music, so expect less depth in my musings; and lastly, Sinatra has more or less a perfect voice, thereby leaving his work not so much to be critiqued from a vocal perspective, but from that of song selection and musical accompaniment. With that, let me begin by saying that Count Basie is a fine choice for musical accompaniment, keeping a light swagger throughout the selections, be they mid-tempo swing numbers ("Wives And Lovers"; "I Wish You Love") to more lively romps ("I Believe In You"; "Hello, Dolly!"). Frank is in form himself, to the surprise of none, belting out his styled phrasings without so much a strain. He even improvises a different verse for 'ol Satchmo in "Hello, Dolly!" My choice cuts are "Fly Me To The Moon (In Other Words)" and "The Best Is Yet To Come," but I believe Frank's overall playful exuberance and enjoyment enhances the remaining performances. This is not to say, though, that there isn't a feeling of sameness. "I Can't Stop Loving You," "I Wanna Be Around" and "The Good Life" are throwaways for me, and possibly why this album isn't absolutely jaw-dropping. Overalll, it's a good listen, but not entirely great. B-