CDVS: Jolie Holland vs. Ben Kweller

Say what you will about their brooding, self-obsessed lyrics, singer-songwriters are a vastly underappreciated bunch. That is, for every James Taylor or Beck, there must have been a dozen Nick Drakes--remarkable talents who went commercially unnoticed and ended up on the bathroom floor with a bellyful of tranquilizers and prescription meds. This was probably particularly true in the '80s and '90s, since neither decade was very friendly to the traditional singer-songwriter (unless, of course, said performer favored a red bandana or the nickname "Cougar").

Nowadays, though, public sentiment--always oscillating between organic authenticity and mechanical perfection--has shifted back, and indie popster Ben Kweller and nu-jazz soulstress Jolie Holland are among the crop of bright eyes breathing new life into the singer-songwriter tradition. At least partially schooled by Nils Lofgren, Kweller is kind of a Stephen Malkmus-lite--good with jangly guitars and prep-school phrasings but not nearly the equal of Malkmus' lyrical gifts. Holland, on the other hand, comes from a much older school--a musical canon steeped in Cotton Club-era jazz and Piedmont-style blues. Clearly, both are prodigies (Holland was tinkling the keys of her toy piano at age 6 and Kweller was mimicking Lofgren before he was in kindergarten), but there's only room in this CD showdown for one wunderkind.

Kweller is quick on the draw with On My Way, which strips some of the post-production polish off last year's Sha Sha and casts him in a more organic light. It's an intriguing choice considering that most of Sha Sha's initial appeal was in its shimmer (see "Wasted and Ready"), but more often than not, Kweller pulls off the simpler sound, deftly bridging the gap between goofy pop and introspective mope-rock. The exceptions are "Down" and "Hospital Bed," both of which lack the adolescent vitality of his best work.

But while Kweller's effort may seem a little thin in parts, Holland's is chock-full of complexity, much of it added with her own delicate instrumental touch. Although it's hard to pick a highlight, "Do You?" concludes with an emblematic moment. In her crackly Southern drawl, Holland wonders, "What did you do when I called?/ Did you hear me at all?" Immediately after, the rhythm breaks down and she softly declares, "You motherfucker, I wanted you." On first listen, it sounds like a mistake, but on subsequent plays, it unfolds with an emotional veracity that achieves the highest goal of the singer-songwriter: It feels real.--Newt Briggs