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Janet Jackson is back in the groove; serious fun from Ludacris

01:00 AM EDT on Sunday, October 1, 2006

Janet Jackson doesn’t need the sexed-up hard sell — her music is worth attention in its own right.

NYT / Tony Cenicola

Diana Krall is engagingly expansive, her voice complemented by flowing arrangements.

Rap artist Ludacris doesn’t take his new seriousness too seriously on Release Therapy.

AP / RENE MACURA

Janet Jackson

20 Y.O.

(Virgin)

Michael’s little sister has titled her ninth album 20 Y.O. because (a) she says that’s how old she feels, and (b) her 1986 album, Control, produced by Jimmy Jam and Terry Lewis, marked the de facto start of her career as a star in her own right.

Despite the sexed-up hard sell that has surrounded the album’s release — more than two years after the Super Bowl “Nipplegate” — its contents demonstrate that her music is still worthy of attention on its own merits.

Not that there’s anything particularly daring about 20 Y.O. Jam and Lewis are back on hand, as is Jackson’s paramour-producer, Jermaine Dupri.

In a brief spoken introduction, Jackson reminds us that she has released issue-oriented albums before, raising topics such as racism and spousal abuse. “I’ve covered a lot, and I’ve uncovered a lot,” she quips, then announces that she “just wants to have fun,” because “there’s something to be said for not saying anything.”

What follows, then, is a well-paced collection of playful, state-of-the-art R&B grooves that don’t let Jackson’s small voice stand in the way of dance-floor efficiency. Professionalism prevails on heavy-breathing moments, such as the the electro-funk workout of “Show Me” and the proud strut of “This Body.”

The latter recalls Jackson’s rocked-out hit “Black Cat,” and at times the ’80s-style keyboards and big crashing beats of songs such as “Get It Out Me” work too hard to summon up earlier high points in Jackson’s career. But for the most part, 20 Y.O. finds Jackson back on her game, rebounding from 2004’s lackluster Damita Jo.

— DAN DeLUCA

The Philadelphia Inquirer

Release Therapy

Ludacris

(Disturbing tha Peace/Island Def Jam)

“You’re going to take me serious on this album, I guarantee it.” That’s what Ludacris told MTV about his fifth major-label album, Release Therapy. And the album cover confirms this strategy. Where previous CDs depicted him holding a flaming $100 bill or getting ready to sink his teeth into a leg (distinctly human, and female), this one shows him with his eyes closed and his fingers folded. It’s the universal symbol, one supposes, for seriousness.

Luckily, he doesn’t seem to be taking his new seriousness too seriously. The album’s first single is “Money Maker,” a floor-shaking (and perfectly frivolous) collaboration with Pharrell; last week it hit No. 2 on Billboard’s Hot 100 chart. And while the anatomical jokes are in somewhat shorter supply and the beats are a bit further stripped down, this is more or less a standard Ludacris album. That is, a pretty good one, especially once you edit out the misfires.

Ludacris sells more records than most of his rivals, yet often gets less respect. But then there’s nothing fearsome about him: He’s a charming, even-tempered former radio personality with a weakness for puns. There’s “Woozy,” a playful sex song featuring (who else?) R. Kelly. But nothing is better than “Ultimate Satisfaction,” which gives Ludacris a chance to trade syncopated punch lines with the underrated Albany, Ga., duo Field Mob. Over a buzzy, spaced-out beat, Ludacris finds yet another way to brag about his rims: “Pumping out albums like Reverend Run is pumping out children, here’s another one/ So catch me on more 24’s than Kiefer Sutherland.”

The heavy stuff comes near the end: an awful half-sung frustration song, “Slap”; an ill-conceived anti-child-abuse lecture, “Runaway Love.” For a finale Ludacris invites a preacher (Bishop Eddie Lee Long) to join him on a gospel song (“Freedom of Preach”). But even midprayer he’s still mischievous: “Forgive those who don’t think I’m great and wanna see me go/ Forgive Oprah for editing most my comments off her show.”

That’s more like it.

— KELEFA SANNEH

New York Times News Service

Diana Krall

From this Moment On

(Verve)

Shortly after announcing that she and hubby Elvis Costello were expecting their first child, jazz vocalist-pianist Diana Krall attributed her new album’s sunny glow to “the joy that I have in my marriage and family, and hopefully in the future.”

Apparently arranger John Clayton was feeling the joy, too. What distinguishes From This Moment On, after all — setting it apart not just from the ever-growing glut of pop standards collections but also from Krall’s previous releases — is Clayton’s delightfully evocative big-band charts. Although the two have collaborated before, this is Krall’s most engagingly expansive album yet.

Many of the vintage melodies and lyrics here are pretty hard to resist in their own right, beginning with “It Could Happen to You,” the album’s colorfully orchestrated opener. But with her dusky tone, sultry phrasing and limited vocal range, Krall could have sounded marooned in this large ensemble setting had it not been for Clayton’s consistently flattering arrangements.

The entwined legacies of Frank Sinatra and Count Basie play a significant role on the album. Sinatra inspires Krall’s insouciant interpretation of “Isn’t This a Lovely Day,” while Basie is evoked by her pecking, blues-tinted solos and the emphasis that Clayton places on dramatic shifts in dynamics and friction-free swing. As for the close-knit quartet performances featuring guitarist Anthony Wilson, none proves more charming or emblematic than the Gershwins’ “I Was Doing Alright.”

— MIKE JOYCE

The Washington Post

Sean Lennon

Friendly Fire

(Capitol)

The eight-year gap between Sean Lennon’s debut album and the follow-up Friendly Fire hasn’t resulted in a radical creative overhaul. As with 1998’s Into the Sun, if the surname isn’t a tip-off, the swirling, ultra-hummable songs will betray Lennon’s lineage.

But where the first disc had the “ooh, let’s-see-what-this-button-does” markings of a studio rookie, Lennon’s approach is less scattered on Friendly Fire.

With the twinkling sonic touch of producer/engineer Tom Biller (Fiona Apple) giving the record a grainy sophistication, Lennon focuses on mellow songs that explore the darker sides of relationships, including the title track and “Dead Meat,” the standouts of the 10-song set. The melodies are generally exceptional, buoyed by Lennon’s nasal, almost prepubescent singing voice and the occasional, unobtrusive string arrangement.

Lyrically, though, Lennon shoots blanks. A few too many naive observations — like “love is such a dangerous game,” from “Spectacle” — rob some of these carefully crafted songs of the one element that’s in short supply here: emotional sting.

— PATRICK BERKERY

The Philadelphia Inquirer

Elton John

The Captain & the Kid

(Interscope)

Eltie has rarely made an all-around perfect album (Tumbleweed Connection gets our vote), but gems can be found throughout his long career. Among the new disc’s 10 slow-moving tracks, in which John and songwriting partner Bernie Taupin sift through the past, are a couple of effective moments buried among platitudes. Perhaps the best of it is “The Bridge,” a pensive piano ballad about the passage of time that seems to contain a rare hint of real emotion.

The package is packed with pics of John and Taupin, long lists of thank-yous, and a shout-out to the Scissor Sisters, the campy New York group that gloriously resuscitates the very ’70s that The Captain & the Kid are so gloomily nostalgic for.

— FRED SHUSTER

Los Angeles Daily News

Beck

The Information

(Interscope)

Time was when two turntables and a microphone was all it took to dispel the darkness, but times have changed since Beck laid down that law on 1996’s Odelay. The world he sees in The Information (due in stores Tuesday) is a psychic wasteland of blasted dreams and lost bearings, a place impervious even to the best James Brown moves.

Beck is known as one of rock’s most party-minded entertainers, but his text has always been dark, or at least troubled. Now the MC has seen better days (“You’ll probably do it again and again like you did it before, but you’re more erratic than then,” he sings in “Elevator Music”), and the party seems doomed. In “Movie Theme” he measures the degree of desperation: “I carry my heart like a soldier with a hand grenade.”

So why is The Information so much fun? For one thing, there’s always an unquenchable humor and hope in the boyish earnestness of Beck’s delivery. But the real key might be the presence of producer Nigel Godrich, whose work with Radiohead has demonstrated his affinity for unsparing prophets.

Like Stanley Kubrick, Terry Southern, et al. concocting a Dr. Strangelove for the ears, Beck and Godrich convey their disquieting vision with a loose-limbed lightness and a sensuous tactility. Hip-hop is Beck’s primary vehicle, a broad canvas made to channel his kaleidoscopic imagery. But the album ranges widely, with Stones/Parsons country-rock, Odelay-reminiscent songs, the syncopated Doors homage “Nausea,” sound collages and an atmospheric lullaby.

All the while, Armageddon might be around the corner, but for Beck, whimsy remains a sustaining life force, and when things get a little close, he and Godrich know how to, as they put it, “make a kick-drum sound like an S.O.S.”

— RICHARD CROMELIN

Los Angeles Times

Guy Clark

Workbench Songs

(Dualtone)

Chris Smither

Leave The Light On

(Signature Sounds)

The cover photos accompanying these CDs focus on the artists’ hands — leathery, wrinkled and grasping a guitar. The music confirms their deft touch.

Guy Clark and Chris Smither are smart songwriters with shot-glass voices and catalogs that go back more than 30 years. As these albums show, both are at the top of their game.

The sets offer plenty of sweet, mostly subdued acoustic picking. Smither’s supporting cast includes multi-instrumentalist Tim O’Brien, while Shawn Camp and Verlon Thompson are among those backing Clark. And on both discs, the material is excellent.

Smither’s hilarious “Origin of Species” takes on intelligent design with references to paramecium and double helix. His rocking “Diplomacy” skillfully skewers Washington’s warmongers, and “Father’s Day” is a lovely ballad about his dad. He closes with three excellent covers, including Dylan’s “Visions of Johanna” and the best version of “John Hardy” since the Kingston Trio.

Clark usually writes alone, but on Workbench he shares composing credit on nine originals with such writers as Thompson and Rodney Crowell, and the partnerships work. The opener, “Walkin’ Man,” neatly blends Woody Guthrie and Chuck Berry. Clark offers a tornado song to rival Bruce Springsteen’s recent gem. “Cinco de Mayo in Memphis” is as good as the title, and “Funny Bone” is even better — sweet, sad and funny.

With Clark and Smither, the singer-songwriter craft remains in good hands.

— STEVEN WINE

Associated Press

Chris Smither plays the Narrows Center for the Arts, 16 Anawan St., Fall River, at 8 p.m. Jan. 13. Tickets are $20 in advance, $23 at the door. Call (508) 324-1926 or go to www.ncfta.org.