WHAP Concert Series: Coldplay

When: Wednesday, July 23
Where: The United Center, Chicago

As a concert-minded songwriter, one of Chris Martin’s best moves was to name his biggest hits after colors — or colours, as he might say. Just ask the 11,000 strong at last night’s Coldplay show, who over the course of the night heard hits of a vivid trajectory: the early highlight was “Violet Hill,” sans the thirty seconds of white noise that precedes it on new disc Viva La Vida; the ultimate peak was a singalong version of “Yellow,” the sole concert cut from debut disc Parachutes; and the show ended with an acoustic take on “Green Eyes” from the excellent Rush of Blood to the Head LP. Even if you don’t particularly care for these tunes, they sure make sense in the midst of a lights show — which sure makes sense to do in an arena. Coldplay’s entire set, in fact, could be summed up as songs that made sense.

The four-piece Londoner ensemble, of course, is making more than a few cents off their latest album: Viva has sold 5 million copies in a month, and the accompanying tour is selling so well that bigger cities — Chicago included — are being treated to two nights of performance. I caught Coldplay’s second Windy City set, which Chris Martin promised was better than the first. And after two encores, two album-length takes on new single “Lost!” and two full hours of music, I can’t call him a liar.

Essentially, Coldplay excels at being recognizable. Their concert was the first where I knew every single song, even the deep cuts from the new disc — “Death And All His Friends”; a rollicking, pitch-perfect “42″ — and the old ones cloaked in electronica and drum machine reverb — “God Put A Smile Upon Your Face,” from Rush of Blood. Outside of that, two songs tested unfamiliar waters: a traditional folk tune sung by drummer Will Champion and a two-minute take on “The Dubliners,” a new ditty that approximates an Irish drinking tune. The set was otherwise infectious, from a rousing rendition of “In My Place” (with crowd-sung “yeah”s) to a laser-assisted romp through the concert stock of “Clocks” (improvised harmonies included). And the decision to only play singles from X & Y — that’s the wide-eyed balladry of “Fix You” and the contemplative piano pop of “Speed of Sound” — was a wise one, as too much mediocrity would have chipped away the artistic armor of Coldplay’s new material.

That said, two brand new songs provided the night’s lowlights. The first was “Yes,” which was overly-reliant on synchronized stereo strings and plagued by Chris Martin’s ultimately-too-weak lower register. Then came the aforementioned double-take on “Lost!,” whose central organ riff was overwhelmed by an attempt to accurately approximate the song’s jungle-thump beat. (The band played two takes because they’re filming concert footage for the song’s upcoming promo video, but one good rendition in lieu of two formulaic attempts — both dependent on Martin’s anti-rock-god flagellantism — would have been better.)

Blunders aside, however, the show was an exercise in slightly exceeding expectations — which is more than enough from a band who tires of playing their material well after you tire of hearing it. Throughout the set, six giant orbs projected images of the band members high above the stage, and an arching video screen flashed images congruent to their simultaneous song: Bush clips during a soulful and more-relevant-by-the-day “Politik”; Eastern imagery throughout “Lovers in Japan”; even psychadelic fruit displays on “Strawberry Swing.” Then there was Chris, as self-deprecating as ever, who despite fame and fortune seems convinced he could lose it all as quickly as it came. But that’s the science of Coldplay, the science outlined in the lyrics of “Lost!”: “You might be a big fish…[but] along may come a bigger one.” The band’s just big fish for now, but that’ll do for a sea of people on a given night in Chicago.

WHAP Reviews: The Dark Knight

In “Batman Begins,” the first installment of Christopher Nolan’s superhero trilogy, Bruce Wayne is put under a microscope. Nolan went to great lengths to show what makes Wayne tick, and more importantly, how his dogmatic personality translates to becoming a symbol for justice. It’s, reduced, not much more than a character study, but it worked with Nolan’s fabulous film noir take, Christian Bale’s step onto acting’s A-list, and just enough controlled performances from actors that could, and have, been the lead in other movies.

However, we find out now that is was little more than a foundation, enough of a necessary understanding to allow us to delve much deeper. “The Dark Knight”, quickly crashing every box office record known to man as it hunts down “Titanic” for ultimate box office supremacy, pulls out a far larger microscope. No longer do we leave Gotham City for half the movie — we leave it, but only as a quick aside — because this is a movie about Gotham City. What does it say about a town that allows a masked man to become their vigilante for justice?

One thing that it allows, as we see, is for a masked juxtaposition. Just as the mob has begun to become scared by the Batman’s light in the sky, a new “class of criminal” arrives in town that is unafraid of everyone and everything. The Joker’s first course of action is to steal $70 million from the mob, but it’s only done to turn their heads. HIs true destiny is against Batman, as a symbol for justice meets an “agent of chaos.”

The Joker is a character that, for his own ridiculousness, is pretty smart. He claims to be a spontaneous criminal, but doesn’t give himself enough credit, as we never see a plan that isn’t well-thought out and designed to turn things on his head. Against Batman, he uses everything Batman stands for against him. The vow not to kill? Against Joker’s hunger to kill, it’s truly an “irresistible force meeting an immovable object.” His mask? Joker calls for it to go off, and the movie is set into motion by his vow to kill until the human beneath Batman’s armor is revealed.

Throughout the movie, there is one “ace in the hole,” that has an effect on this battle between good and evil. Harvey Dent (Aaron Eckhart), Gotham’s new D.A., is Gotham’s white knight. Wayne develops a great deal of respect for Dent, who is unafraid taking down the entire mob at once, unafraid showing his own face. It Batman is a symbol, Dent becomes a face.

And then, on the flip of a coin, he becomes Two-Face. In a series of events that leaves Dent on a vengeance quest, and he flips, becoming Nolan’s No. 2 villain and giving the Joker what he wants — to show the line between good and evil can be crossed by anyone. The film is about, no less, whether or not Gotham City is a town that can believe in the good of people. Bruce Wayne and Batman believe that it can be, that it is, and the Joker believes it’s a desolate environment where everything is headed South.

As much as it’s a story about Batman, it might be more a story about The Joker. Unlike Tim Burton’s “Batman”, Nolan gives us no explanation, just hints, at the Joker’s backstory. His insanity is unchanged, which offers Heath Ledger a chance at controlled consistency in an unstable role. Ledger shines in every scene, so much so that he actually outshines everyone else in the movie. Short of Daniel Plainview, it’s probably the best performance of the decade, and almost certainly the best supporting role. Ledger’s humor, juxtaposing his actions, give such life to a character that is so fictional.

My criticism of “The Dark Knight,” which borders on my only criticism after a second viewing, is that the Nolan Brothers screenplay in ways throws the baby out with the “Batman Begins” bath water, and to mix metaphors, throws Bale under the bus in doing so. Title be damned, this is not a story about Batman, and it’s not a story at all about Bruce Wayne. Bale is given nary an opportunity to react emotionally, to show us that underneath the suit lies an actor with some pretty good acting chops.

Per usual, Nolan handles the rest of his supporting cast with a watchful eye. Eckhart is brilliant as Harvey Dent — for which his role in “Thank You For Smoking” was an interesting precursor — and okay as Two-Face. Michael Caine, Gary Oldman and Morgan Freeman continue to show great selflessness in reprising their small roles, but Caine is such a good Alfred, I can’t imagine we ever saw the butler as someone different. The lone issue most have is with Maggie Gyllenhaal, who just seems an awkward fit; her fire just comes off different from Katie Holmes.

However, the beauty of this movie is the combination of blockbuster and film noir. The movie will almost certainly win an Oscar in sound editing or mixing, in art direction or because of The Joker’s make-up. However, Nolan has veered from cheesy at every take in this series, and it never feels like it belongs in the superhero genre. Nolan goes after his characrers mercifully, showing us motivations and weaknesses, and showing us that every town has an underbelly. It might not be led by capes, face paint or the Mob, but it’s there, and it’s up to the good to repel it.

With “Batman Begins,” Nolan built himself a foundation. With “The Dark Knight,” Nolan’s interest in this series was truly unveiled, and thanks to Ledger, Nolan’s scope doesn’t feel too big, even if it might be.

WHAP Rating: 4.5/5.0

WHAP Reviews: Beck, Modern Guilt

At this point, the one tedious thing about any Beck album is wading through swamps of hype before even hearing a guitar chord. And in the case of Modern Guilt, his tenth full-length and — at 33 minutes — his shortest ever, it’s laid on thick.

First came the announcement that our favorite changeling had hand-selected producer-du-jour Danger Mouse to helm the disc, and that the two of them had spent six months in L.A. trading old records like musical alchemists to prepare. Then came the sonic blueprint for the record — psychadelic sixties pop — and everyone got giddy over the fact that Beck and Danger Mouse, both arguably ahead of their time, were engaged in an effort to sound decidedly behind their time. After that, drop a few names for good measure — like Chan Marshall (aka Cat Power) on backing vocals, or Beck’s own father handling the string arrangements — and all of the sudden a routine Beck CD is the Dark Knight of the indie music world. But after numerous spins, the byline on Modern Guilt is neither compliment nor criticism. Instead, it’s more like a blanket statement, and one that comes as no surprise given the mystical aura that’s surrounded Beck ever since he traded samples for Scientology: this record underscores the two great paradoxes of his career.

The first one, of course, is that Beck is the only modern artist who gets brownie points for revisiting his previous work. Normally, there’s a stigma attached to bands that don’t change their sound; this is why Nickelback is critically loathed, why Pink Floyd and Radiohead are seen as visionaries, and even why the Beatles are considered more prolific than the Rolling Stones despite playing together for thirty fewer years. But ever since he made 1996’s groundbreaking Odelay, which fused together everything from James Brown to Big Black, Beck has been tempting critics with claims that he’ll reinvent that very wheel. He never has, mind you, but 2005’s Guero came close enough to earn much higher marks than it deserved — while other records like Mutations and Sea Change strayed so far from the Odelay sessions that some critics were awed while others were put off. I’m in the former camp, so here’s some good news: Modern Guilt is about as far from Odelay as it gets. But there’s bad news too.

The bad comes, I guess, from the second paradox of Beck: his music sounds more like plagiarism when he’s not actually plagiarizing. When I said that Odelay contained elements of James Brown, I wasn’t kidding: Beck sampled the Godfather of Soul on that record, along with so many other songs that not one of Odelay’s tracks was entirely unassisted by the open gamut of previously recorded music. Even incorporating those hundreds of samples, though, not one song off Odelay sounded copycat. Modern Guilt, by comparison, is written in full by Beck — but it doesn’t escape the pitfalls of being overly familiar, which makes this record feel more like a covers album than an original piece of art. Take the title track, where a staccato bass line is lifted directly from the Zombies’ “Time of the Season” and choral surf guitars are nicked from Cream. The song is menacingly bouncy, not unlike the Doors at their poppiest, but it ultimately sounds too close to being stolen for its own good.

A similiar problem plagues well over half this disc. “Youthless,” while wise to incorporate alternately ascending and decending keyboards, is a cheap rehashing of Beck songs like “Hell Yes” and “We Dance Alone”: one cool musical motif, in this case guttural guitar funk, with little invention atop it. “Soul of a Man,” meanwhile, veers into a guitar solo at the minute mark that’s suspiciously familiar to a line from the Black Keys’ “Breaks” — which wouldn’t be so bad if Danger Mouse hadn’t worked with the Keys less than three months ago. Even “Profanity Prayers,” marked by some as one of Modern Guilt’s standouts, is the Smashing Pumpkins’ “1979″ at twice the speed. Never before has Beck been so predictable.

Thankfully, there is a saving grace on this album — but it has nothing to do with its production. Actually, Danger Mouse comes up short on many occasions; when first single “Gamma Ray” breaks into eight bars of twangy guitar solo, for instance, a George Clinton-style bass line could have upped the aural ante by leagues. Similarly, Beck and DM’s reliance on sudden song endings quickly loses its shine: when six of ten songs stop abruptly in the middle of momentous times, the listener thinks less that it’s cool and more that it masks an inability to write actual song conclusions. Certainly a half-hour album could have incorporated a few more minutes of music without testing our patience — and relied much less on a whooping, saloonish snare drum that Danger Mouse peppers almost everywhere.

That saving grace, then, is a bound in maturity in Beck’s lyricism — particularly unexpected from the man who said in interviews that he was primarily concerned with Modern Guilt’s sound, the same man who admitted to writing scratch lyrics (i.e., lyrics on the spot) for the majority of Odelay. Beck pulls off some gems throughout this disc, including a line from album closer “Volcano” that might as well be directed to his critics: “I’m tired of people who only want to be pleased,” he sings, taking a shot at modern hedonism. “But I still want to please you.” Elsewhere he’s a paranoid poetic, like on the excellent “Walls”: “You know that we’re better than that/But some days we’re worse than you can imagine.” Maybe a third paradox enters the equation here: as Beck focuses on how he sounds, he improves more so with what he says.

Truth be told, the lyrics aren’t the sole highlight on this album. A few tracks work extremely well: “Chemtrails” is tribal, acidic and funky at once; the aforementioned “Walls” uses sweeping synthesizers to accurately mimic the sound of collapsing walls; and “Gamma Ray” (see below) alternates between TV-theme guitar riffing and pudgy piano pop. But the best is far outweighed by the rest on Modern Guilt — and it’s hard to shake the feeling that if great minds like Danger Mouse and Beck do indeed think alike, perhaps they need to be kept apart to do so.

WHAP RATING: 2.8/5.0

Top 25 of 2008: Part 10

It’s hard to believe, but we’re already halfway through 2008 — so I’m continuing my quarterly Top 25 of this year’s most infectious singles. Eligible for this round are springtime singles, ranked according to personal preference but compiled based on chart success and digital sales. We end today with nos. 5 through 1.

5. Duffy, “Mercy” (Billboard Peak: #27)
Doing for summer ‘08 what Amy Winehouse did for summer ‘07, Duffy steals some of the most obvious sounds from ’60s soul for debut single “Mercy”: a major seventh organ line, a “Stand By Me”-style bass riff and even the kind of background singers who do choreography in between scattered “oohs” and “yeahs.” Put together, the elements prove undeniably infectious — whether the Welsh songstress deserves those Dusty Springfield comparisons or not.

4. Gavin DeGraw, “In Love With A Girl” (#24)
If “I Don’t Wanna Be” proved anything about Gavin DeGraw, it was that his vocal abilities walked circles around his songwriting chops; new single “In Love With A Girl” reverses that logic. Mixing his adult contemporary instincts with some ’90s alt-riffing flair, DeGraw achieves a sound tailor-made for this decade’s Buzz Ballads compilation — which he hopefully won’t end up hawking in infomercials come 2020. (You laugh, but Mark McGrath of Sugar Ray has been there, done that.) And by all measures, Gavin’s well-placed vocal overdubs make “Wants to make love when I wanna fight” the line of the summer.

3. Estelle feat. Kanye West, “American Boy” (#35)
If I namedropped Dusty Springfield in a Duffy review, then it’s only fair to compare Estelle to Chaka Khan here — what with her rhythmic phrasing, off-kilter harmonies and comfort around thick funk. And while I could have done without another pointless guest rap, Kanye West’s production — one part lazer-heavy synths, one part Max Martin slap bass — more than makes up for it.

2. M.I.A., “Paper Planes”
How’s this for violence in the media: ultra-cool M.I.A. buffs out her catchiest single yet with four gunshots in its chorus. Otherwise, “Paper Planes” is an AM-radio affair; just check how closely the backing track approximates The Shondells’ “Crimson and Clover.” But the real treasure is M.I.A.’s lyrics, including a claim that she’s got “more records than the K.G.B.”

1. Coldplay, “Viva La Vida” (#1)
Giving Coldplay top honors on this list is like sending charity to the Rockefeller estate, but I’ll be damned if they don’t deserve it. In seven months, “Viva” will catalyze a Grammy sweep for Coldplay — who are right in line to take home Record, Song and Album of the Year unless U2 hits the studio immediately. And why not: the song’s quivering string solos and monarchic lyrics are enough to catapault it into the era where they actually used catapaults. Put simply, this isn’t the kind of song that sounds different than everything else; it’s the kind of song that sounds better than everything else. And for that it’s a classic.

The Last Performance

I will indeed get around to reviewing “The Dark Knight.” But, after seeing the 12:01 show tonight, I texted a friend that the movie was: “very good and very complex.” So until I come to terms with some of the questions in my head, this will have to do.

This was the role that Jack Nicholson played. It was, infamously, the role that Jack warned about. It’s a role that demands two faces, Harvey Dent be damned — between humor and anger, between psychopathic and plotting. It’s a role that has been getting Oscar talk since the first day Michael Cain was on set. It’s also, of course, the last role of a great actor’s life.

Put it all together, and the following is hyperbole that fits: it is the most anticipated performance in the history of cinema.

Needless to say, with anticipation comes a divergence in strange opinions. Some claim that this is the role that killed him. Some claim that it’s an injustice that the last time we’ll see Heath Ledger on screen is portraying a delusional face of evil. Some claim the posthumous Academy Award already belongs in the grave. It’s expected given the man, the death and the role, but it’s all a bit ridiculous.

I’ll first say that I don’t think this is the role that killed him. I believe Christian Bale when he says that he saw Heath having fun with this movie, having fun with this role.

Why do I believe that? Because it shows on screen. Looking back, if I can say one thing about Ledger’s performance, it’s that he was pitch-perfect in every comedic note. More than anything else, he made an anxious theatre erupt in laughter more than once. Personally, it came as a relief, that the darkness of the role was overshadowed by the comedy of it. Heath didn’t go out as some face for evil, he went out painted like a clown and acting like a brilliant comedian.
As far as the Oscar, this is dangerous territory, especially seven months out, especially without a deep knowledge of the performances yet to be seen. Speculating or handicapping his chances is a fool’s errand. But I’ll say that Nolan’s script is monologue-heavy, and if Supporting Oscars are awarded to the man that steals the most scenes, Ledger is in good position. That Batman’s actions speak louder than his words allows for Joker’s voice to be the most vocal in the movie.

Walk out of the movie, and think of a scene. It will be one of Heath’s, almost assuredly.

Before his death, Ledger talked about the difficulty of the role because — and I’m paraphrasing — the Joker is a character without conscience. He kills, but there’s not an ounce of remorse. He doesn’t kill to make a point. If I recall correctly, the Joker refers to himself as “an agent of chaos.” It’s a nuanced role, and for the first third of the movie, I questioned whether Heath was giving the nuanced performance that was promised. For awhile, the comedy was shining too bright, it was casting a shadow over the other aspects of the character it was supposed to balance with.

And rather than overstep my boundaries, I will say that he flips on the switch, turns the performance on the head and takes off. Nolan’s monologues get some of the credit, but halfway into the film, Ledger toes every line.

We wondered, and some worried, whether “The Dark Knight” would be the fitting conclusion to Heath’s legacy. In the end, I’m happy to report, Heath Ledger will be “The Dark Knight”’s legacy.

Newest TV Obsession: House, Season 4

I was a college freshman during the first season of House, so lucky for the show, it debuted during a time when I watched more TV than at any point in my life. Weekends were for drinking, days were for class, and weekday nights, from 4-11, were for television. It was a sad existence albeit a fantastic one, and I was far more nuanced to write this blog than today.

Of my freshman year shows — which included some real duds and some guilty pleasures like “The O.C.” — House quickly became one of my favorites. While diagnostics is different than the ER or the surgical stuff done in “Grey’s”, I don’t think the show deserves points for being unique. Instead, it took a time-tested format and added a voice, a clear structure, and consistency. By clear structure, I mean that the episodes are largely built the same, with House dominating, while two pairs of supporting characters — Cuddie/Wislon or his team — are playing in the background. It’s a structure that allows Hugh Laurie, whose brilliance in the show is understated even despite the awards he has received, to shine.

However, after my first year, I gave up on “House”. I started to watch the second season, and I grew tired of it. The patients seemed to be getting more and more outrageous — I mean, Wikipedia lists the patient’s disease in 2-08 (“The Mistake”) as: “Behcet’s Disease, then Hepatitis C and hepatocellular carcinoma from a Liver transplant.” C’mon. So I gave up on it, thinking that the world would follow. I do this with television shows often, trying to enjoy the “first on the bus, first off the bus” viewership.

Only problem was, with “House”, no one followed me off the bus. The show ranked 24th in its first season, and then jumped to tenth in Season 2. From there, it only went up, going from ten to 7, and from seven to four, where it finished the fourth season. It’s consistently above 15 million viewers, and outside of “American Idol” and maybe “24″, it’s FOX’s best bet. With friends swearing by it, my arrogance finally subsided, and recently, I decided to use Hulu to begin watching the fourth season.

Less than a week later, I had plowed through Season 4, and now I’m back on the bus with my head down. For me, the show was like rediscovering an old friend, as the voice becomes infectious so quickly, and House’s predictability is only more endearing the second time around. Plus, the season offered him in a different perspective: forced into picking a new team after being left behind by his old clan. The supporting cast grows as a result, and while it takes a juggling act that sometimes gets out of control, it’s managed well-enough. The diseases are still ridiculous, but for now, I don’t let it bother me. I don’t like House because he’s a great diagnostician, I like him because of the same reason I like Hank Moody in “Californication” — they are fantastically-written characters trenched in self-loathing.

When I saw Kal Penn and Olivia Wilde added to the Season 4 docket, I worried. But Penn is genuinely likable and Wilde is subdued enough where, still, no one threatens to ever steal the screen from House. So with the fifth season just a couple months away, let me say that I’m adding “House” into my TiVO list (for when I get a TiVO), and I recommend heading to Hulu and seeing it for yourself.

Top 25 of 2008: Part 9

It’s hard to believe, but we’re already halfway through 2008 — so I’m continuing my quarterly Top 25 of this year’s most infectious singles. Eligible for this round are springtime singles, ranked according to personal preference but compiled based on chart success and digital sales. We continue with nos. 10 through 6.

10. Carrie Underwood, “Last Name” (Billboard Peak: #19)
The best song from her Carnival Ride set, “Last Name” proves that Carrie Underwood spends her time steaming up car windows when she’s not slashing tires. Her backing band plays boogie blues throughout, incorporating fat bass licks, sloping chord changes and a banjo line from Big & Rich’s playbook. And at the end of it all, you’re glad at least one of our American Idols sounds decidedly American.

9. Kanye West feat. Chris Martin, “Homecoming” (#69)
Onto more Americana, albeit sung by a Brit: Kanye West’s “Homecoming” might just be the best moment on his stacked Graduation disc. The piano sample is vintage Kanye — familiar but not so much that you can identify it — and Chris Martin holds his own with lyrics about places he’s only seen on maps. Every once in a while, it’s nice to hear some sentiment to counterbalance Kanye’s massive ego.

8. Alicia Keys, “Teenage Love Affair” (#54)
Sure, Alicia Keys’ “Teenage Love Affair” has a midsection heavy on immature lyrics — but you can’t exactly expect much else from a songstress who’s registered a Number One called “My Boo.” Otherwise, “Affair” is the best slice of summer soul this side of Earth Wind & Fire.

7. Rihanna, “Take A Bow” (#1)
Rihanna’s last huge ballad was “Unfaithful,” in which she played the role of the cheater. Now comes “Take A Bow,” a dagger-sharp slice of scorn addressed to an unfaithful boyfriend. I’m not so sure what comes next, but someone’s getting laid.

6. Maroon 5 feat. Rihanna, “If I Never See Your Face Again” (#53)
Adam Levine has stated that much of his band’s It Won’t Be Soon Before Long draws from Prince’s Controversy — but a single like this one makes that point by itself. “If I Never See Your Face Again,” either with or without Rihanna, is retro cool in its reliance on synthetic funk stabs, Parliament-worthy backing vocals and an electronic drumbeat. And while it’s not exactly modern-era chart dynamite, you can’t deny it would be thirty years ago.

Top 25 of 2008: Part 8

It’s hard to believe, but we’re already halfway through 2008 — so I’m continuing my quarterly Top 25 of this year’s most infectious singles. Eligible for this round are springtime singles, ranked according to personal preference but compiled based on chart success and digital sales. We continue with nos. 15 through 11.

15. Weezer, “Pork & Beans” (Billboard Peak: #64)
If “Beverly Hills” was tongue in cheek, then Weezer’s “Pork and Beans” is downright snide. In just over three minutes, Rivers Cuomo rambles on about rogaine, Timbaland and everything in between — all while his band switches from folksy to fuzzy and back again. The best line? “One look in the mirror and I’m tickled pink/I don’t give a hoot about what you think.”

14. Coldplay, “Violet Hill” (#40)
In a season dominated by Lil Wayne, it comes as a surprise that Coldplay’s “Violet Hill” is the best summer single for turning up your bass. Archaically funky, the track comes from the first line that Coldplay wrote together as a band — “Was a long and cold December” — and maintains its relentless chug save a few soaring choruses. Only Coldplay could launch such a meditative song into the Top 40.

13. Madonna feat. Justin Timberlake, “4 Minutes” (#3)
What’s wrong with this single is simple: If “4 Minutes” were a house, you’d walk inside and have no idea Madonna lived there. Instead, the Queen of Reinvention takes a backseat to Timbaland and Timberlake this time around, who provide her a beat that could turn band geeks into cool kids. But seriously, you can barely hear Madge on the track — like she forgot that her personality is the best thing she’s got going.

12. Jesse McCartney, “Leavin’” (#10)
As if co-authoring “Bleeding Love” didn’t prove his songwriting chops, Jesse McCartney returns this summer with “Leavin’” — a new chapter in a career that started before he could drive. The song’s production is an orchestra of blips and trinkets, and the colloquial lyrics — often too street for Jesse — are rescued by a flurry of singalong “oh oh oh”s.

11. Chris Brown, “Forever” (#6)
At this point, Chris Brown could shit on a plate and folks would buy it — and “Forever” ain’t that far off. The song’s airy arcade beat and recycled lyrics reveal just how little time was actually spent in the studio, and the lack of a killer chorus turns the whole thing into an exercise in monotony. That said, it’s nice to be reminded that before ‘umbrella, ella’ came ‘forever ever.”

Top 25 of 2008: Part 7

It’s hard to believe, but we’re already halfway through 2008 — so I’m continuing my quarterly Top 25 of this year’s most infectious singles. Eligible for this round are springtime singles, ranked according to personal preference but compiled based on chart success and digital sales. We continue with nos. 20 through 16.

20. David Cook, “The Time of My Life” (Billboard Peak: #3)
Like other American Idol singles, “Time of My Life” — David Cook’s audio victory lap — tries to nail immediacy on two levels: first with its rush-release the day of Cook’s coronation, second with its infectious, sugary chorus. But more remarkable is its faulty marketing; surely a heavier sound would have suited Cook much better.

19. Natasha Bedingfield, “Pocketful of Sunshine” (#5)
A few years back, I understood the success of Natasha Bedingfield’s “Unwritten.” The thing was as ubiquitous as cosmetic commercials and The Hills could make it, not to mention damn catchy. But the allure of “Pocketful of Sunshine” confounds me — mostly because a summer single about sunshine shouldn’t sound so warped. That said, a lifted chord progression from Nelly Furtado’s “Say It Right” kind of makes it worthwhile.

18. Mariah Carey, “Bye Bye” (#19)
After the publicity circus of “Touch My Body,” Mariah Carey tested the limits of her eternal adolescence with “Bye Bye” — a quasi-lullaby about death in her family. The song charted decently, but stalled at #19 instead of becoming Carey’s 19th #1.

17. Jason Mraz, “I’m Yours” (#44)
Still trying to be the James Taylor of his generation, Jason Mraz’s latest adult-contemporary smash is the first big torch single in a very hit-or-miss career. It works well because blue-eyed soul is hard to resist in the summer, and radio stations appreciate lyrics about devotion from the guy who’s too often too clever for his own good.

16. Ne-Yo, “Closer” (#25)
Ne-Yo has recently expressed his distaste with modern R&B, and I don’t exactly disagree with him; after all, it’s hard living in the generation that features T-Pain on half its club hits. So his attempt to change up the game is “Closer,” which is quite accurate in its approximation of Bad-era Michael Jackson. And while the single has been an extremely slow grower in the states — its original release was in April — its hazy acoustics and synth stabs give it the feel of a 21st-century “Smooth Criminal.”

WHAP Reviews: Portishead, Third

The music world was quite a different place in 1994. Ace of Base had three Top Ten hits, Kurt Cobain took his own life and Prince still sang about sex. It was back then when Portishead lead singer Beth Gibbons delivered those beloved lines of the loveless from her band’s superb debut Dummy: “Nobody loves me,” she sang on “Sour Times,” the album’s lead single. “Not like you do.”

Fourteen years later, Prince is 50 and mild-mannered as ever, Kurt Cobain is a fading memory and the closest Ace of Base gets to commercial exposure is in, umm, fitness commercials. Portishead, meanwhile, has just released their third disc (Third) — and the lyrical shades of gray aren’t getting any brighter. “I’m worn out,” Gibbons confesses on album closer “Threads”: “Thinking of why I’m always so unsure.” Times changes, evidently; people don’t.

Now 43, Gibbons still leads the world’s most cerebral trip-hop trio with her wavering, ever-paranoid vocals. Hers is one of the most forward-thinking minds in electronic music, albeit bogged down by insecurity and psychological pain — no doubt the impetus behind Portishead’s decade-long break from the music scene after 1997’s eponymous Portishead. But alongside Geoff Barrow and Adrian Utley’s collective knack for finding the darkest notes on any keyboard, she’s crafted 50 minutes of intricate, Hitchcockian pop for the Third set: music that would divide a nation quicker than unite it, which makes its recording turf — Berlin — quite fitting. Eerily inventive, Third is faithful to lo-fidelity and exploitive of minor-key harmonies. Put simplest, it’s the sound of being unsound. And it’s the best thing to come from a band that’s never met a critic who actually had something critical to say.

What makes the disc a classic, however, is the way it works as an album. Opener “Silence” introduces one of Portishead’s two styles on the CD: cinematic, psychadelic electronica. There’s a time signature trick, an uncomfortably abrupt ending and a bass line not far removed from that epic, five-note Close Encounters theme — but what makes the track so remarkable is how tight Portishead sounds as a band. Throughout five minutes the trio never loses grip on its central spy riff, content to explore the melodrama in three instruments instead of layering on the synthesizers. There’s even a cowbell, but I’d wager it’s keeping the fever as opposed to curing it — what with lines like Gibbons’ thesis: “Wounded and afraid,” she sings only to clarify. “Inside my head.”

Then comes “Hunter,” and a muted drumhead announces Portishead’s other side — delicate, acoustic balladry. The song itself is an achievement in contextualization, managing to incorporate elements that evoke Black Sabbath (“Iron Man”), Radiohead (“You and Whose Army?”) and even Bjork (check the title) at once. The percussion, meanwhile, is an exercise in coloring outside the lines: Barrow strays subtly from perfect tempo, denying his listener the effortless convenience of a computerized beat. The result is jarring once established, and the band maintains it until the album’s end — regardless of the instruments used to keep time. (Third is primarily a percussive album, as a matter of fact; you’ll hear organic, earthy tones from a gamut of trinkets by its fiftieth minute.)

Drums aside, Beth Gibbons is the wandering star of this show. Her performance has been accurately described as ‘mental’ — meaning both contemplative and borderline unstable — and she manages to tie every song back to the shortcomings of her psyche. There’s brief existentialism (“I don’t know who I’m meant to be/I guess it’s just the person that I am,” a gem from “Magic Doors”) and self-deprecation (“I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve you,” from “Nylon Rip”), but few words are wasted on politics or passion. Even a bout of feminism on “Small” (“You’re just a man/Hoping to score…”) ends in personal pity: “…Just like me.” It’s nothing short of amazing how much Gibbons can sing about herself when she doesn’t even know who she is.

Third, however, is twice musically what it is literarily. “Small,” the album’s best, makes an eery switch from cello-assisted escapist music to proggy psychadelia that would make Iron Butterfly blush. First single “Machine Gun,” a seeming slice of socialist realism, rides a reverb-heavy rifle beat all the way to its chilling finale — when two synthesizers duet on forty seconds of Soviet pop. “Nylon Smile” and sister song “Magic Doors,” meanwhile, are composed almost entirely of stray noises, and the latter’s approximation of Eastern funk is a real treat. In truth, nothing here misses: “The Rip” (see below) is pretty as Simon & Garfunkel, macabre as Pink Floyd; “Deep Water” takes a barbershop quartet 20,000 leagues deep; and “Plastic” proves the power of stagnant horns. Even the oddly exuberant, overly-electronic march of “We Carry On” turns into a vicious sonic shark attack midway through. Better yet? It’s original title was “Peaches.”

It’s fitting, then, that Gibbons’ coup de grace arrives atop the crashing electric waves of “Threads”: “Where do I go?” she asks in Third’s closing minutes. Maybe it’s a rhetorical question, maybe it’s a question whose answer is a question. But for the time being, it’s a whole lot simpler than if Gibbons asked herself “Who am I?” — and, after all, she just spent a whole album doing exactly that. You’ll delight in her efforts.

WHAP RATING: 4.9/5.0