Sorta folk, but not really. Screaming guitars, but only occasionally. Lennonesque songwriting and the smoothest, most unappreciated voice in pop music, constantly. Grant Lee Phillips follows up the promise from his band’s 1993 debut Fuzzy with a lovely set of songs about disaster ridden Los Angeles ("Mockingbirds") and historical references galore (the title track), framed within their three piece ensemble and a string section here and there. I hate to say this, but perhaps Phillips’ biggest problem is that he’s too smart for his own good. Smart pop has a very loyal, but too, too small, fan base. Just ask Squeeze and Crowded House. ****

Called the missing link between the Beastie Boys and Duran Duran, Information Society took the Star Trek sampled, Latin heavy techno pop of their debut and raised everything up a notch. The sampling and beat stealing rivals the Beasties’ vastly underrated Paul’s Boutique, with the Beasties themselves popping up all over the title track. Producer and former Scritti Politti drummer Fred Maher loosens the reins a bit, and while sometimes it can get annoying (they added a few too many bits of gobbledy gook in between songs), I was having too much fun playing "Spot that sample." *** ½

Minneapolis’ Jayhawks were unfortunate enough to release their major label debut, 1992’s Hollywood Town Hall, about a year or so after the explosion of the Black Crowes. The bands had very little in common, but comparisons persisted nonetheless. The Jayhawks shed that ghost with Tomorrow The Green Grass, a stunning collection of rock songs with a little twang that owes more to the Eagles than the Crowes, though they don’t have much in common with the Eagles, either. Jayhawk singers Mark Olson and Gary Louris would rather wear their hearts on their sleeves and play vulnerable, whereas Don Henley would be too busy kicking a girl while she’s down. What really sets this album above the other Jayhawks albums is the three part harmonies between Olson, (one of the most underrated singers in rock), Louris and keyboardist Karen Grotberg. Grotberg, whose contributions to the string drenched "I’d Run Away" and the last-call-for-alcohol "Red’s Song" gives the Jayhawks that extra push that Hollywood Town Hall didn’t have. Sadly, this was the first and last time those three worked together (Olson left the band to go solo), but for one brief moment, the Jayhawks had it all. **** ½

Who could have predicted that Jellyfish, a group of San Francisco flower power kids with serious chops but only minor success, would be the most influential band of the ‘90s power pop scene? I certainly didn’t, yet the title is a well deserved one. Spilt Milk, their second (and, sadly, last) album was bombastic masterpiece of over the top symphonic blasts, monstrous guitar riffs and some of the sharpest and wittiest lyrics you’ve ever heard. Where their debut, Bellybutton, was almost kiss ass tribute to the Beatles, Spilt Milk has them saluting such ‘70s hitmakers as Queen ("Joining a Fan Club"), Supertramp ("New Mistake"), even 10cc ("Sabrina, Paste and Plato"). Big, powerful and insanely clever, Jellyfish was far more than the sum of its parts. *****

This is an album that I stumbled upon courtesy of a coworker of Deb’s, who gave her the song "Strange World" on a mix tape. All I can say is, I wish I had heard it sooner, and I wish BMG had done a better job promoting this, as it is a wonderful album. The arrangements remind me of some of Seal’s work, with acoustic guitars fluttering over layers of keyboards and drum programs. The songwriting is quite solid, though he does borrow a few tunes quite liberally ("Strange World" owes a debt to Bryan Ferry’s "Kiss and Tell," and "I Think It’s Time" is almost a rewrite of the Stones’ "Wild Horses"). If there is anything holding this man back from superstardom, it’s his voice, which is an occasionally grating tenor that sounds like he’s being prodded with something. An acquired taste, to be sure. But I found the music so lovely that the voice doesn’t bother me at all. ****

Just when you thought the early ‘90s were over, along comes Sanskrit spouting, mysticism bent Crispian Mills and Kula Shaker, serving up some of the best dance rock grooves since the Stone Roses. Working with legendary producer John Leckie certainly helped, as this album could very easily have wound up half as entertaining as it is. "Taatva" rolls with the feel of a blown White Album track courtesy of the George Harrisonesque slide guitar. Kula Shaker’s biggest liability is that everything they’re doing has been done before, but upon its release at the end of 1996, with grunge finally dying its slow death, this album sounded just fine to me. *** 1/2

lang opens her heart, bares her then tortured soul and delivers the best album of her career. Layering it with a slick pop gloss compared to her previous countrified outings, lang assembles a lush landscape of love, longing and despair. Being so heartbroken never sounded so good. *** ½

Aimee Mann’s first album of new material since 1988, when ‘Til Tuesday bowed out with Everything’s Different Now, finds Aimee in the same jilted frame of mind, but the musical landscape around her has changed considerably. Gone are the cushy synths and only-in-the-studio drum sounds, replaced with a rawer yet much fuller sound. Jon Brion, who toured with Til Tuesday on their 1989 tour, says on board as producer, and proves to be the cheerful yin to Mann’s jaded yang. Even on songs laced with bitter recriminations, like the charged "Say Anything" ("If you were everything you say/Things would be different today/Though I’d be happy to believe/I’d have to be much more naive"), Brion fills them with bubbling organ riffs and layers of vocals that turns it into something much happier than it sounds. Aimee Mann has damn near cornered the market on the love gone wrong song, and on Whatever, being dumped never sounded so much fun. **** (Now issued by DGC)

Tremendously defying the odds and getting better with each release, Mann strips away the layers of sound from her lovely 1993 solo debut, Whatever, and turns in a wonderful lo fi album. With longtime collaborator Jon Brion in tow, Mann seems to have met her match with creating instantly familiar songs about rather depressing subjects, and bringing along Squeeze’s Chris Difford and Glenn Tilbrook for a couple tunes certainly didn’t hurt. Now if she would only do some silly video featuring her making a scene at some swanky place, maybe she’d start selling records again. If there is any justice, Aimee Mann will have her day once more. ****

Here was George Michael asking, pleading, to be taken seriously, and for the most part, the public didn’t buy it. Too bad, because his songwriting had improved dramatically over his gazillion selling 1987 album Faith. (Did you know ‘gazillion’ is in Microsoft’s dictionary? I just found out by writing this) Michael was finished being a boy toy and pop star, and wanted to be a musician, and he found out the hard way that people liked him better as a boy toy. When I wrote a review for the Ohio University Post on this album, I said that this was George’s Sgt. Pepper, meaning he wanted people to listen to it as if it were by another artist, the same way the Beatles wanted to step out of themselves and do something completely different. I still stand by that claim now, though hindsight makes it more obvious why this album didn’t do as well. The singles from the album were all about as subtle as sledgehammers, starting with the heavy handed "Praying For Time" ("Charity is a coat you wear twice a year"), "Mother’s Pride" (a song about a mother losing her husband and son to war, which was shamelessly released during the Persian Gulf Distraction) and "Freedom ’90," which has fared the best because at least it was upbeat. However, the song that most people missed was "Cowboys and Angels," a rapturous seven minute jazz piece that stand as one of the best songs, if not the best song, Michael has ever written. Listen Without Prejudice could have been a classic, if Michael hadn’t lost focus on what made him such a star in the first place. As it is, it’s a good idea, with some of his absolute best work, taken way too far. ****

Sporting the unique lineup of two bass players and only one guitarist certainly separated Ned’s from the rest of the Manchester pack in more ways than one (they had no business being lumped with any of those bands, but timing is everything, I'm afraid). But they also had some catchy songs and a ferocious live show to go with it. The opening track, "Kill Your Television," grabs you by the scruff of your neck and it barely lets up from there. A band that seemed destined for greatness, until Nirvana and Teenage Fanclub stole the limelight and give Ned’s a serious identity complex. (their second album was unfocused, and the third was a cry for help from a rock band trapped in a techno world) Too bad, because this was a sound worth following up on. *** ½

Longtime remixer and king of ambient music scores big on his third solo outing. From the pulsing, erotic beats of "Water From a Vine Leaf," with the sultry Beth Orton on vocals, to the new age synth strings of "Hazy Shade of Random," Orbit creates the soundtrack without the film. It’s also the warmest sounding machine generated music around and a great alternative for people who love techno music but don’t care for the relentless high speed Kill-your-mother beats associated with it. ****