Listening Station: Rufus Wainwright, Willie Nelson, Jello Biafra and the Melvins, Joseph Arthur, Jill Scott

Rufus Wainwright

Want Two

If Rufus Wainwright had gotten his way last year, his label would have released a double album of his work called Want. The singer/songwriter had spent six weeks in the studio and produced 30 songs, but Dreamworks (now Geffen) felt putting the majority of them out on the same package would be overkill, and so the project was divided into two: Want One, released last year to widespread acclaim, and Want Two, out this week.

Now that the project has been unleashed in full, it's easy to compare the two albums to another artist's dual endeavor--Radiohead's 2000 album Kid A, and its 2001 brother record, Amnesiac. Despite its less-than-accessible vision, Kid A was widely beloved from the get-go, while Amnesia, though likable, felt to some like a leftovers package. The former was also more cohesive and sonically ambitious, while the latter was stylistically all over the place and lacked the daring of its predecessor. The same things could be said for the Want albums: The first one feels like a tight, realized work and its sequel-of-sorts meanders around like a lost kitten.

Want Two was promised to be the more politically charged and darker album. Wainwright also warned it would be more complex and intricate, stemming from his opera and classical influences. All of this is true. Songs like "Waiting for a Dream" speak of the "ogre in the Oval Office." The heightened angst is evidenced in tracks such as "The One You Love," where "The Lady Gloom and her hornets circling around/ Is now before us, the screaming's done without moving/ One little move and for sure you will be stung." As for his opera and string section inclinations, look no further than the dramatic opener "Agnus Dei" and dinner-music number "Little Sister."

Yet, with these newer elements emphasized, he seems to have let the songwriting slide a bit. Whereas Want One featured some of the best songs he's ever penned, there isn't too much on Two that sticks. Many of the inclusions feel impressionistic, or take on a background role to the singer's vocal acrobatics. His lyrical chops still delight; the most memorable bits on the album include his first crush in "The Art Teacher" and his personal dealings with his gay role model status in the flippant "Gay Messiah." They might've been more compelling, however, if they were being carried by compositions that didn't sound so wayward.

Wainwright clearly remains inspired, if undisciplined this time around. A stronger focus next time around ought to better serve his numerous talents.--Mike Prevatt

Willie Nelson

It Always Will Be

Willie Nelson is one of just a handful of country performers who get a free pass from the rock 'n' roll crowd. Along with contemporaries such as Johnny Cash, Waylon Jennings and, of late, Loretta Lynn, Nelson is welcomed with admiration despite the ubiquitous steel guitar on his recordings. This probably has as much to do with Nelson's pothead cred and Farm Aid support as it does his music. But that's not to diminish Nelson's talent. On the contrary, he's an excellent songwriter and performer who often transcends his genre.

His new album, It Always Will Be, is a solid representation of his considerable range, from heartrending ballads to countrified boogie-woogie. Nelson, like Cash, seems to improve with age. There's a sense of a life fully lived and wisdom painfully earned in his songs. The poignant title track begins, "Sometimes I think that love is/ somewhere living on an island/ all alone." The Tom Waits-penned "Picture in a Frame" is punctuated by a wonderful line, "I'm gonna love you 'til the wheels come off." Other highlights: duets with Lucinda Williams ("Overtime"), Norah Jones ("Dreams Come True") and his daughter, Paula Nelson ("Be That As It May"). A cover of the Allman Brothers classic "Midnight Rider" is just okay, eclipsed by Nelson's Tex-Mex guitar wizardry on "Texas."

The only missteps are two songs that rely on country clichés: "Big Booty," about a trashy woman who won't fry up tasty vittles for her man anymore because he two-timed her with a thinner woman, and "I Didn't Come Here (and I Ain't Leavin")," about an obnoxious guy who wants everybody to kiss his ass. The themes, though appropriately light-hearted, seem beneath Nelson's maturity and stature.--Geoff Schumacher

Jello Biafra & The Melvins

Never Breathe What You Can't See

The names may have changed (Osama McDonald, Jon Benet Milosevic, George W. McVeigh, Saddam Disney), but the vitriol remains the same. The noms de guerre for Jello and his associates synthesize the targets of his career: government, corporations and other soul-sucking abominations that make his skin crawl almost as much as the rampant complacency that puts the institutions in power. Much edgier than I ever remember the Dead Kennedys or the Melvins separately, Never Breathe What You Can't See owes much of that quality to one major supporting player: Tool axe-wielder Adam Jones layers frenetic assaults with thick sludge. "Caped Crusader" could be from any Tool album. "Yuppie Cadillac" needs little interpretation and the lyrics are hysterical. "Enchanted Thoughtfist" (though I'm not really sure what that means) reveals Jello's Promethean intentions: He wants to "Bring the world fire," no matter the consequences. (It may mean his liver is eternally consumed by right-wingers.) More likely, though, his efforts here will fall just below the radar of those who ought to hear it most. If punk music were ever in need of a shot in the arm, it's now. And if punk music intends to incite action (as opposed to the current concern for, I don't know, the sk8er boi in all of us), Jello and the Melvins offer a last hope.--Carey Murphy

Joseph Arthur

Our Shadows Will Remain

The only negative reaction so far to singer/songwriter Joseph Arthur's fourth full-length, Our Shadows Will Remain, has been that it sounds overproduced. If only a fraction of the slick rock offerings shoved down our throats were as penetrating and well crafted as this. On his Vector Recordings debut, Arthur seems to make his most blatant attempt at broaching the mainstream, and while some blame a tidying of his typically earthy, atmospheric production, one must credit the newfound sharpness of his songwriting. His previous efforts--all among the best albums of the years they were released--have sometimes featured tracks that meandered and plodded along. That's not the case here. Each of the 12 tracks here boasts purpose, focus and emotional reverberation; there isn't a wasted note or bum note to be found anywhere. And within the hooks of single and "The O.C." soundtrack candidates like "Can't Exist" and "Even Tho" is Arthur's signature lyrical insight on the human condition. This is Arthur's first immediately listenable effort and it deserves to be a blockbuster.--Mike Prevatt

Jill Scott

Beautifully Human: Words and Sounds, Vol. 2

The best thing about Jill Scott is you don't have to be a metropolitan sister struggling with a mercurial sense of selfhood to dig on her grooves. Like Erykah Badu, whose 1997 debut Baduizm came on like a big balled fist of universal empowerment, and Stevie Wonder, who believed that the children are our future, Scott delivers righteous jams for the people--from candlelit love ballads to laid-back, neo-soul shuffles. Her voice is flawless throughout--like Norah Jones with an infusion of flava--and is complemented by a sparse collection of beats that's equal parts drum machine, electric bass and R&B loops. "Golden" is a self-help book set to music ("I'm taking my freedom/ Putting it in my stroll/ I'll be high-steppin' y'all/ Letting the joy unfold"), and "Family Reunion" smolders like the last charcoal briquette on the public barbecue at the neighborhood park. In the end, it's about unity, baby--and a shared love of Neicey's potato salad. (The scallions and celery make it green, you know.)--Newt Briggs