Listening Station

Norah Jones

Feels Like Home

Either producer Arif Mardin is in possession of a secret cache of pixie dust or Norah Jones' lungs have been genetically altered to simulate the tone of a 50-year-old tenor saxophone. There's simply no other way to explain Feels Like Home--the dazzling follow-up to Jones' 18 million-selling, eight-Grammy-winning album Come Away With Me. An effortless blend of jazz, country-folk and acoustic blues, Feels Like Home is the ideal answer to Jones' unexpected breakthrough--an album that's every bit the equal of its predecessor. Jones may be the daughter of Indian sitar adept Ravi Shankar, but her voice is pure Americana--a lonely dirt road at the crossroads of Aretha Franklin and Alison Kraus.

Although "Sunrise," "Carnival Town" and the cover of Tom Waits' "Long Way Home" will likely be regarded as the album's notable singles, "Creepin' In" is certainly worth a moment's pause. An unabashed country round--the chorus winks at Dolly Parton and Linda Ronstadt--"Creepin' In" points to Jones' development as a solo artist, and the perky giggle at song's end reveals how much fun she's having in the process.

Still, the album's great achievement is clearly the after-hours jazz standard "Don't Miss You at All"--an adaptation of Duke Ellington's "Melancholia" with lyrics penned by Jones. In a sandpaper rasp reminiscent of Billie Holiday, Jones sings of solitude and snow as a solo piano flitters in the background: "Out my window I see lights going dark/ Your dark eyes don't haunt me/ And then I wonder who I am/ Without the warm touch of your hand/ As I sit and watch the snow/ Fallin' down." In a word, wonderful.--Newt Briggs

The Cooper Temple Clause

Kick Up the Fire and Let the Flames Break Loose

In 2002, a big fuss was being made by the U.K. music press about the Cooper Temple Clause, a rock subgenre-defying sextet that crashed the top 40 with a thrilling single called "Let's Kill Music." The band capitalized on that success by shortly thereafter releasing its full-length debut, See This Through and Leave, which earned solid praise, respectable sales and, eventually, a bit of attention from critic/industry handicappers on this side of the Atlantic. RCA won the American label bidding war, but rather than rush the album out, it decided to hold off and wait for the second one.

For anyone Stateside who heard the music from See This Through, it's a massive letdown; to this day, neither RCA nor the band has explained why the album has only been available here as an import. As far as America is concerned, our introduction to the CTC starts with Kick Up the Fire and Let the Flames Break Loose, released last week, six months after its British debut. And while it pisses on most anything else one might possibly brand as alternative rock, it doesn't exhibit the enthralling anarchy and originality of its predecessor.

For the sophomore record, the band concentrates more on reining in its otherwise divergent elements and making more inviting music; there are more proper tunes here, in which tamed rhythms and barely ascendant melodies come and go. Most bands could use more of this, but for CTC it sometimes feels regressive. It's not until the Spiritualized-esque "Into My Arms," where the band veers into an unsettling orchestra of industrial, percussive clatter. Thankfully, the last four tracks see the act kicking out the art rock jams, from the Nirvana/Radiohead collision piece "Music Box" to the Pink Floydian sprawl and Primal Scream digit-prop of closer "Written Apology."

Make no mistake, the CTC is still that rare, ambitious, eclectic rock act seemingly thumbing its nose at Oasis, Radiohead, the White Stripes and the rest of modern rock royalty. The band's former restless self is missed here to some degree, but given its fresh-start status in the States, perhaps the scrutiny is unnecessary. For this is a band worth keeping an eye on, and Kick Up is an album worth experiencing.--Mike Prevatt

Damageplan

New Found Power

Like thrash-metal or not, the thing that was always cool about Pantera was its stubborn faith in the heaviness. At times, the band seemed to be promoting its own aesthetic philosophy--heaviness for heaviness' sake. On 1994's Far Beyond Driven and 2000's Reinventing the Steel, Pantera was like a tractor trailer bearing down on a crosswalk; you either yielded to its fury or took a face full of grille. More than any other band save Slayer, Pantera actually scared its fans into buying its albums, which they did by the millions.

A big part of Pantera's charm--if songs like "Psycho Holiday" and "Fucking Hostile" can rightfully be called charming--came from the chemistry between its members. Like molten ores, frontman Rob Anselmo's primordial bark blended with Dimebag Darrell's volcanic riffs and Vinnie Paul's hammer-and-anvil drums to create a tempered alloy harder and heavier than any of its parts. Sadly, this amalgam would not stand up over time, and last year--after nearly two decades of pounding and pummeling--the band shattered into pieces.

The result is Damageplan, Darrell and Paul's Pantera spinoff with singer Pat Lachman (formerly of Halford and Diesel Machine) and bassist Bob Zilla. A 21st century blend of aggro-guitar and nu-metal production, Damageplan's debut New Found Power flirts with Pantera's intensity but never really achieves its magnetic bluster. As with several Pantera albums of the past--most notably, 1990's Cowboys from Hell--New Found Power is frontloaded with its most bone-crunching songs, including the title track, "Fuck You" and the incendiary "Explode." In fact, the first seven songs only stall on "Pride," which stinks of post-grunge Layne Stayley. But despite two appearances by Zakk Wylde (or perhaps because of them), the second half of the album abandons its thrash pretensions and ultimately peters off into monotony.--Newt Briggs