Thursday, May 22, 2003
Copyright © Las Vegas Mercury

Listening Station

Ms. Dynamite

A Little Deeper

The British R&B singer and rapper Niomi Daley, who performs under the name Ms. Dynamite, launched her career as a brash teenage MC on London pirate radio stations. Now 21, she's graduated from the city's fertile garage hip-hop scene and released a daring and strikingly original debut album that brims with the swaggering confidence of a mature, fully formed artist. On A Little Deeper, Dynamite is equally comfortable commenting on drug addiction, reminiscing about her childhood or relating the lightheaded rush of swooning for a lover whether she's backed by dancehall, soul, raga or straight hip-hop tracks.

Dynamite is a competent MC, but many of the album's strongest tracks are centered on her singing. Her first single, "It Takes More," sees Dynamite deftly setting her sights on gangsta rap and its incessant misogyny, violence and materialism. But Dynamite smartly takes her criticism further than the hos, gats and bling-bling to lament the ultimate insignificance of the genre's practitioners: "You're just avoiding adding to the real shit that's happening to us. ... Tell me, how many Africans died for the baguettes on your Rolex?"

Certainly, the album is much more fun than a sociology lesson, with other tracks seeing Dynamite looking inward to probe heartbreak and relationships with her family. The breadth of A Little Deeper makes it no mystery why Dynamite last year became the first solo black female artist to capture the Mercury Music Prize, the prestigious award bestowed by critics and musicians on what they deem the best British album of

the year. Unlike the Grammys in the United States, a single Mercury is handed out annually and the selection panel typically honors originality and talent, regardless of commercial success. But this young performer's popularity is certain to catch up with her critical appeal across the pond if U.S. radio programmers are up for something this adventurous.--Jim Bialek

Lacuna Coil

Comalies

Sucks when one of the most hyped metal albums of the year turns out to be a silver shit-frisbee. Sucks doubly when you're a rock critic and--all a-grab at the illusion you'd somehow be supporting the band in a more earnest fashion--you spent your own money on the CD versus dipping into your valuable pile of trade-schwag for it. Sucks triply when you were originally turned on to the album by reading the wheezing paeans of other rock critics. Blargh! Feel my stupid pain!

In this overhyped effort, Italian metallurgists Lacuna Coil blow metal about fifteen years back to the heydey of hair-rock and cock-core; sure, sure, they want to you to think they're goth metal, but don't believe it. From the opening cheesy chugging of "Swamped," you'll quickly put this band's all-black, all-leather look out of mind as your suddenly guitar-roar-enfeebled mind is flooded with images of teased hair, ripped jeans and machines disgorging hard-rockin' banks of smoke. That's one thing to be said for Comalies: it doesn't let up with its epic, warhammer sound; problem is that goes hand in hand with an epic simplicity that screams AOR. Cristina Scabbia's vocals are, in fact, as powerful and ethereal as every fan says they are, but they sound almost ludicrous against the onerous giganto-hairshirt of chugging, lethargic guitar work that makes up most of the songs on this album; (sadly, things sound right at home when male vocalist Andrea Ferro throws out his lame growl-singing). Pick a song, any song: the lumbering "Humane," the guitar-and-keyboard whirler "The Ghost Woman and The Hunter," the Velveeta pop-goth of "Unspoken." Comalies? I'll take the coma, thanks.--Andrew Kiraly

Gemma Hayes

Night on My Side

Irish rock's leading lady is no longer Sinead O'Connor, now that she's giving up music (again). The crown has been bequeathed to 23-year-old Gemma Hayes, one of the few artists this year to release an album that begs consecutively repeated listenings.

The recording, Night on My Side, was actually discharged last year in Europe, and its acclaim peaked with a nomination for Britain's annual Mercury Music Prize. The award went to Ms. Dynamite, but like the winning R&B artist, Gemma Hayes also made an impression across the Atlantic. Virgin Records subsidiary Astralwerks--long identified by its electronic leanings--signed her and revamped Night in several different ways, including an altered tracklisting halved by livelier "day" and darker "night" songs.

Originally produced by Flaming Lips and Mercury Rev overseer Dave Fridmann, the filler-free Night showcases Hayes flatteringly. Her vocals feel effortless, and her songwriting is assured and stirring. There's no instrumental overload here; despite some blustering guitar toward the beginning of the album, some tracks dig in with just her Sarah McLachlan-esque croon, gentle strumming and steady beats indicative of slo-core indie rock. She has moments that recall Yo La Tengo and Velocity Girl ("Hanging Around"), K's Choice ("Let a Good Thing Go"), Beth Orton and Ron Sexsmith ("Ran for Miles") and Lucinda Williams ("My God"), making the case for her versatility. And the stories are as emotionally impressionistic as their soundtracks, running the gamut of sensations, from hope to despair, elation to dejection and assertion to dependence. It's not before long until Hayes' music becomes as comfortable and well-worn as your favorite sweatshirt.

Hayes is still a fresh face; Night is her first long-player, and it's not without its weaker moments. That it exudes the same maturity and power of someone like Orton or Williams is enough to unconditionally herald her emergence.--Mike Prevatt