Three Imaginary Girls - Anti-

Tom Waits: Bad As Me

Andrew Boe — Tue, 29 Nov 2011 16:24:46 +0000

http://www.amazon.com/Bad-As-Me-Limited-Deluxe/dp/B005IGVYUG/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1322439834&sr=8-1

Tom Waits has had an incredible career in that he has managed to somehow careen in the opposite direction of most artists: his first records are his lightest, most palatable ones -- for example, Closing Time almost sounding like The Eagles at moments -- and his later albums just get stranger and more uncompromising with time. (It is impossible to deny that if Waits heard Real Gone in 1973, he likely would have fallen over.) He has also achieved something that I cannot say any other musician of his age has done, which is span several decades without making one lousy or even mediocre album. This accomplishment alone sets him apart from nearly all of his contemporaries. And with this in mind, we have his new release Bad As Me, an album that explores the musical territory one would expect, but does not whatsoever translate as mundane. It will come as no surprise to state simply that this is yet another beautifully alien collection of songs from the now 61 year-old legend.

Bad As Me features some high profile guests such as Keith Richards, Flea and Les Claypool, all of which seem anathema to Waits’ songwriting style -- but somehow, they tastefully lend their talents to the songs that they are involved in without overplaying or sounding out of character with the feel of the album. In fact, if one hadn’t scrutinized the liner notes, you would never know that these musicians were involved in the recording. (Richards must be thrilled to still be involved with a record that is worth listening to!) Aside from the odd collaboration with Waits, one can't think of much else that he has touched in the last thirty years that warrants repeat listening.

Stylistically, the album follows the trajectory that one would anticipate, as tere are certainly elements of previous records present. Bone Machine is recalled in the vocals on “Talking at the Same Time.” The Swordfishtrombones sound is revisited on “Satisfied,” which is not too dissimilar from “16 Shells From A 30.06.” Most strikingly, the track “Kiss Me” provides the earliest reference point on Bad As Me. In fact, reference point isn’t even adequate as the track sounds like a sequel to “Blue Valentines,” only written thirty-three years later. This is particularly surprising, as Waits rarely delves into the song structures and styles that he used on his albums in the 1970s.

There is also the anachronistic swing of “Get Lost,” which sounds like a 1950s garage rockabilly number. Of course, it features Waits’ demented variation on such a style of song, making it all the more enjoyable. “Hell Broke Luce” contains classic dark humor and includes a variety of typically amusing lines such as “Get me another body bag, the body bag’s full.” The deluxe version is the recommended, as it contains three bonus songs that stack up with everything on the main album. “Tell Me,” for instance, is a heart-rending ballad that is effectively sentimental and romantic. “Why does a bird build its nest so high,” Waits intones as if he feels the sorrow of mere existence in every cell in his lungs and teeth. His pain and maudlin delivery is starkly believable.

So with Bad As Me being Waits’ twentieth album (excluding the live Big Time and Glitter And Doom releases), clearly the legendary iconoclast is continuing down the dusty path that leads him onward. However many more records he bestows us with in his lifetime, it seems safe to say at this point that his entire catalog will not contain one dud. Not only this, but his newest offerings are still indispensible, something that cannot be said for nearly every other decade spanning artist that one can muster a thought of.

Beauty Parlor: hey, all you pretty things! {new record review column}

Chris Estey — Mon, 30 May 2011 16:23:14 +0000

I'm going to start this new "album round up" for Three Imaginary Girls with the above recent You Tube video for Sean Rowe's "Jonathan": (1.) Because I think it's the best song off of his recent Magic album (recently given full treatment here) and though it's been out a while the video is new. More-so, it's starting my summer off all rum and cola-sweetly, buzzy and bubbly at dusk-time, and I want to share it with you because the tune still grabs my attention. (2.) That's to help set the tone for a regular column that will primarily focus on the best songs on the albums I'm playing, while taking care of full length business as economically as possible. This doesn't mean I won't be doing more full length album reviews; but they might get the test-run here before they get the full heat treatment. Or, as in Rowe's case, I might remind you dear reader of previously scribed-about music that I think needs further attention, probably due to a bright jelly ear-worm melting in the candy jar of my brain.

Now to a hit and run consumer guide starting in my iTunes, and running into my headphones and down through my fingers briskly with the assistance of a jar of cold, strong coffee and soy milk:

Magic

Chris Estey — Fri, 01 Apr 2011 15:39:43 +0000

8.3

http://www.amazon.com/Magic-Sean-Rowe/dp/B004GHYC2A/?tag=wwwthreeimagi-20

sean_rowe-magic.jpg

When my wife heard this playing yet again on the stereo last night she chirped, "So you found a record you really like a lot? That's awesome!" Yes, Sean Rowe's brandy-baritone vocals from his ANTI- debut Magic have become as sonically ubiquitous in our apartment as, say, those by Dylan, Cohen, and most recently Van Morrison. Now, that's pretty heady praise to write those names in a review of a new artist, and I'd need you to check in with me this time next year to see if Magic is still pouring out through apartment #301 here above the Ave. But the fact that the juxtaposition is even presumed should tell you enough that there is unique promise involved.

Most of the praise I have for this full-length would better be used by the placement of a handful of the tracks on a mix tape to friends. Because it's a really, really good album -- but due to so many slow burners with similar tempos, the sequencing lacks a certain ingenuity. Still, maybe that's OK: The first of the ten tracks is titled "Surprise," and it's a hale, modest, romantic soul number that might have been better placed as the third track. A steady hand full of flowering imagery ("Your body shows up to take it all")... still, this is where the average consumer is going to look for the quick pop fix, and this is the closest thing to a Steve Winwood number Magic is going to give. (However, deep cut art song fans will love following lines like, "I found a little shelter inside of the sickness ... I want to bottle the night and use it on you when the night goes down.")

There is further proof that new singer-songwriter gods can possibly be born new, or at least their rhythms reborn through the cryptic night poetry and the plainly textured strum and thrum of their dusky song-blankets. It's when Rowe starts to caterwaul supernaturally halfway through "Old Black Dodge," like how L. Reed has been using Antony's otherworldly vocals to augment his more minimal sing-speak. "Wet" may have been a better opener; I can guess what it's about, but I love how (spartan) it sounds. Pretty much just a couple of acoustic guitar notes, over and over, with confessions about "leaving friends behind the graveyards with jars of rum" razoring out of the song's almost-stillness. Whether the kitchen knives and abusive boyfriends and moving are metaphorical, it all (as they say) rings true. Just as true as "Fast Car" from Tracy Chapman, and it's been a long time since alternative-kissed soul-pop has been both this pinching and relaxed.

But it's when more instruments are used, as on the fluidly-paced full-band masterpiece about the metaphysical car crash we'll all find ourselves in one day, "Jonathan" -- which, by the way, is the song here everyone needs to hear a few times -- that I fall in love. The scenes shoot out in sparks of lived-in observation, worn out reserve, and that ever-present musical restraint. "Jonathan" lets go crazily a little bit though, and it's like hearing "Born To Run" all over again -- suicide machines and Catholic girls wrapping their legs around you and votive candles lit in an abandoned building and all that.

The two tracks before "Jonathan" are almost equally as strong; the end of the world as the end of relationship (or vice versa): "Time To Think," perfect for that final drink before she comes home to dump you, and "Night" brings up a child's love and death in breaths too sharp to repeat. But it's where it's coming from that has me convinced to listen. There are some near-hymnals later on that I lose focus on; but maybe it's just because these previous jewels gleam so bright. (Maybe the sequencing was smart, after all.) "Wrong Side Of The Bed" is an example that even a fast-paced tune might lack the brilliance of the ballads. Rowe might be a bard like Cohen; weaving a tapestry, not building the bonfire. "American" is genuinely surprising in how deeply inside it reaches, for example, its spiritual thirst defying the simplicity of its title.

It's been a long time since I wanted to play an album over this much, my wife was right about that. This has been out since February but I think it's got a bad Catholic girls' legs, so let them do their work on you if they haven't. Sean Rowe's words and voice definitely have the Magic; here's to him casting future spells on me, and hopefully on you, too.

Win tickets to see the Swell Season at the Paramount!

imaginary victoria — Mon, 16 Nov 2009 17:47:43 +0000

This not a test. I repeat: this is not a test. This is an actual ticket giveaway. (It's so good, I almost thought that we were kidding.)

The Swell Season will be stopping by the Paramount this Sunday, touring in support of Strict Joy which hit the shelves a few weeks ago at record stores across the States. The lucky winner will not only receive a pair of 14th row floor seats (!!!), but they'll also get a print of this limited edition tour poster made just for the Seattle date of the tour. Email tig@threeimaginarygirls.com with the subject line "StrictJoyInSeattle" to get in the running!

For anyone out-of-town that can't catch a Swell Season date on their relentless upcoming tour schedule, here's the link to Glen and Marketa's recent visit to NPR. (Click "Listen Now" at the top of the page for the full twelve minute interview on "All Things Considered".) I often will quip that performances like these are pull-the-car-over-and-stop kind of amazing, and that's exactly what this performance caused me to do. If you have the time, it's well worth the watch for both the sings and the interview. Enjoy!

Strict Joy

imaginary victoria — Mon, 16 Nov 2009 17:02:35 +0000

8.3

http://www.amazon.com/Strict-Joy/dp/B002T3LHG2/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=dmusic&qid=1258346345&sr=8-1

51oQG79WsxL._SS500_.jpg

I want to sit you down and talk -- I want to pull back the veil and find out what it is I've done wrong, Glen Hansard croons earnestly. It's the first line from the opening track of the new Swell Season album, Strict Joy. The song "Low Rising" is at once classic Hansard -- heartache, folklore, anguished cries in the middle of a set of casual, life-altering sentences -- and also a gorgeous representation of what old fans will refer to as the 'newer' signature sound of the Swell Season. Hansard's achy, telltale traits are layered in with Marketa Irglova's delicate shared-lead vocals, which vary across the tracks from barely-secondary to her Damien Rice-esque lead on "Fantasy Man." Add in some catchy choruses, two parts major-label caliber production, and a few members of the Frames -- and you've got the perfect follow-up to the Once soundtrack.

Having been a Frames fan for quite a few years now, I was happy to hear the full-band style of the Strict Joy tracks carrying hints of a restrained, filtered-down hint of their tone, as Colm Maclomaire, Joe Doyle, and Rob Bochnik are all contributing members to the Swell Season sound. Which is not to pigeonhole the Swell Season as a side-project of any sort, as it solidly stands on its own legs among Frames and non-Frames albums alike. The dozen tracks wind the listener from the feel-good ache of "Low Rising" to the sad, haunted "The Rain," crossing to the distant, staring-out-the-window-of-the-train movie-scene sound of "Paper Cup." The beginning of the album never stalls out, laying out tracks cohesively one after the other, seamless but not too similar; constantly pretty and yet shot through with knife-in-the-gut writing that begs you to pull the car over and pay attention.

There's a one-two-three one-two-three catch to "Feeling the Pull" (and I'm feeling so small / against this big sky tonight), the sad, sparse lovestory of "In These Arms," and more of Marketa's sweet lead later in the album on "I Have Loved You Wrong." Two-thirds of the way through Strict Joy, the more experimental side of the Swell Season starts to push through, borrowing well-worn sounds and making them the band's own. "High Horses" is backed up with a few layers of vocal tracks and wandering, jangling, peak-popularity Tori Amos piano, begging for your attention through peaks and pauses and indirectness. "The Verb" takes some undertones from "God Bless Mom" (off of the Frames live album, Set List) and "Love That Conquers" backs itself up against the best of Jesse Harris and Paul Simon's offerings.

Finally, the last two tracks showcase and circle back to the classic sad bastard sound that, for this listener at least, only Glen Hansard can offer up. "Two Tongues" gives a classic, all-or-nothing abstract telling of a push-pull relationship stage, never quite settling on whether things are coming or going -- while "Back Broke" swoops in and closes the album perfectly: heartbroken and hopeful, with the undertones of a developing sound that leaves the listener hanging on to the very end, both to hear the next chapter of the story and what's in store for the Swell Season as a whole. Long-standing Frames fans and new, Once-driven Swell Season listeners will both do themselves a favor to pick this album up -- every listen brings this album closer to becoming one of my top albums of 2009.

Tom Waits - Free Download / Pre-Order Glitter & Doom Live

heather b — Tue, 13 Oct 2009 02:29:18 +0000

Ok, so the brand, spanking new Tom Waits website went up today and the internets blew up immediately. My iTunes has more Tom Waits tracks than anything else 'cause I sure do love me that man. The website promises information regarding "news, releases, tours, films and more...a resource for lyrics, photos, wit and wisdom, strange but true tales, and more imponderables on topics as far ranging as the origin of consciousness, the sexuality of Christ and the lonely journey of the male seahorse." In other words, anything a serious Waits fan could ever dream of.

The new album Glitter & Doom Live will be released on November 24, 2009 and is a collection of recordings from Waits' 2008 US and European tour, 17 tracks in all. There are some special offers available for all the Waits fans out there:

1) Pre-order a whole host of merchandise, from T-shirts to tour books, CD's and LP's and any combination thereof here (long load time). I'm on the edge of my seat for the album extra "Tom's Tales" compiling all of his famous tall tales and random stage banter. I love his wacked out stories.

NEW Neko Case single available for free download

Imaginary Shrie — Wed, 14 Jan 2009 22:27:37 +0000

For every blog that posts the song, and iLike user who adds it to his/her profile, Neko and Anti- will make a donation benefiting Best Friends Animal Society.

Arm's Way

Erik Gonzalez — Tue, 29 Jul 2008 15:54:57 +0000

http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B0016MJ2OQ/?tag=wwwthreeimagi-20

Islands.jpg

Make a batch of cookies. How about chocolate chip cookies. Mmmmm.

Anyway, follow the recipe of choice and make yourself a batch. Then eat them. Tasty!

Now, try the same thing, but this time, forget to add the sugar. And the chocolate chips. Now eat them.

Are they as tasty?

HELLS NO.

This is an very apt analogy for the Islands and their album making career. Return to the Sea equals gooey, chocolately, cookielicious goodness. The follow-up, Arm's Way equals punishment food.

Alright, maybe Arm's Way might not be as extreme as suggested here, maybe the difference is something closer to "fabulous homemade cookie" versus "store-bought, pre-package rock of a cookie", but in any case, it is a disappointment. Somewhere along the way, Islands lost the fun, whether it be by accident or in a bout of ill-advising dieting, but very little on Arm's Way measures up to the pop gems on Return to the Sea, and instead you're left with a lifeless husk of flavorless junk.

Now, what exactly went wrong with Arm's Way might be as simple as imagining the members of this post-Unicorns band decided to take their music "seriously" for once. I am all for seriousness in its place, but on an Islands record is not its place. The production is too clear. The arrangements are too ostentatious. The subject matter isn't far enough out there. It is too much of a "rock" album and not enough of a "roll" album, if you catch my meaning. This album is the "sophomore slump" personified. It is hard to really point out any single point where the album bottoms out, so maybe I should just try to emphasize the positive (for now): "J'aime Vous Voire Quitter" is a good song. (Exhale). I said it. It actually comes close to capturing some of the madcap fun of Return to the Sea without getting too bogged down in trying to be an art rock band (minus the Latin breakdown). "Creeper" is synth-pop confection that will rot your teeth, but you won't care. "To a Bond" is restrained ballad that using the strings to its advantage rather than barraging us with the unnecessary instrumentation.

As for the rest, well, it is a mess. No, worse than that, it is a disaster. "Kids Don't Know Shit" should be retitled "The Band Don't Know Shit". "Life in Jail" is as much of a downer as the title implies and has no place on an Islands record. "In the Rushes" desperately wants to be a momentous musical moment, but really just ends up sounding like an outtake from a tribute to Rushmore. "I Feel Evil Creeping In" feels to me like a horror movie schlock director trying to make a "serious" film but ends up eviscerating someone along the way just the heck of it anyway and "Vertigo", well, its just along 6 minutes too much for anyone to be paying attention at this point.

It makes me kind of sad that Islands seem to miss the mark by so much on Arm's Way, it was one of the albums I was most looking forward to this year. Alas, instead of bringing me the same joy and satisfaction that Return to the Sea brought a mere two years ago, Arm's Way goes down like those mistake batch of cookies where you leave out all the stuff you like and you're left with a shell of what could have been.

Arm's Way equals punishment food.

Grinderman

JimiC — Thu, 29 Mar 2007 08:00:00 +0000

http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/B000MX7YUE/wwwthreeimagi-20

grinderman07mar.jpg

There was a time when rock music was all about adolescent angst and misdirected sexual energy. Sadly, for myriad reasons too numerous to list here, most of the music that sees any level of distribution, or reasonable opportunity for mass consumption, is more like a calculated exercise in targeted marketing. Young musicians are just as screwed as they ever were, they're just a bit more savvy about the business end of it now and more likely to get something out of it in the end. Twenty is the new fifty; the rage, confusion, and energy replaced by reasonable business acumen and a good eye for public relations. Fortunately for us, and thanks to the new Grinderman album, it looks like fifty might be the new twenty.

Nick Cave's been at this game for a long time, and as he pushes (very) close to 50, he seems to have rediscovered his youthful vigor, angst and humour in this new project featuring three of his fellow Bad Seeds (Warren Ellis, Martyn Casey, and Jim Sclavunos). Nick Cave is the headliner here by reputation only; by all accounts this a very collaborative project that grew organically out of the Bad Seeds, starting with the Abattoir Blues/The Lyre Of Orpheus sessions, wherein a new approach was taken to songwriting that relied on much more improvisation, Cave playing off of his bandmates rather than to them. While Abbatoir stayed fairly close in style to more recent Bad Seeds works, Grinderman, and their self-titled debut album, looks further back in Cave's career for it's antecedents, hewing much closer to the feel, if not always the sound, of his seminal antipodean noise-punk band the Birthday Party.

Where Cave has become a true songwriting craftsman and grade-A crooner over the course of his later career, Grinderman revels in it's primitive absurdity; primitive, likely in no small part due to Nick Cave's sudden switch from pianist to guitarist. It gives the guitar work an instantly fresher and more immediate feel, as well as a primativist viscerality that hits the listener hard. A humourous absurdism seems to have made a return to the cannon as well, essentially MIA since the days of the Birthday Party. The Bad Seeds records were always a bit strange and surreal, but we haven't seen so much of the humour that is on display here in a long time. It's a side of Cave that is often forgotten in the murder ballads and dark dirges which have dominated his career of late, but makes a welcome return here.

In order to provide some context, let me say I have been a great admirer of Nick Cave's works from the very beginning (the song "Shivers" from the pre-Birthday Party band Boys Next Door contains one of my two favorite lyrics of all time: "and my baby's so vain/she is almost a mirror/and the sound of her name/sends a permanent shiver/down my spi-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-ine") all the way through the Bad Seeds catalog ("The Mercy Seat" is hands down my favorite song in the history of music); however, in the past 10 or so years, while I had continued to purchase the albums and give them a cursory spin, I felt that his/their albums had become a little same-y. I put on the Grinderman album not having read any reviews or heard any buzz, knowing only the personnel involved, hoping for the best, expecting… well expecting more of the same.

Well smack my ass and call me stupid. This is defintely NOT the Bad Seeds part II.

Album opener "Get It On" caused me a moment's hesitation, as it opens on what feels like free form poetry, and gave me an unsettling feeling that Cave was going to spread his artistic wings a little further (like the books and movie scripts weren't enough) leaving the rock (and accessability in general) behind; but then halfway through the boys begin to reach the rock in a sing-a-long-y fashion that sounded a little like a Ginsbergian take on Black Flag's TV Party (without the "TV"). [His left eyebrow raises as intrigue fills his mind.]

Track two is where it really gets good, though. "No Pussy Blues" is essentially a dark and hilarious take on an aging rock star attempting, and failing, to bed a beautiful young fan. Musically, I don't even know what to say about "No Pussy Blues," other than Thank You. This is the best thing Nick Cave has done since Tender Prey. It's what I imagine the Birthday Party might sound like today if they had stayed together and kept with the times. It gives me faith in mankind and warms the cochels of my cold heart. I think it could solve all the world's problems. Plus, it makes me a little horny (and ultimately, more satisfied than the song's narrator…).

Title track "Grinderman" comes off like a half-sized version of the Doors' "The End" minus the overblown hubris and infantile psychologizing, with snaking guitar lines, which readily recall Robbie Krieger, underpinning a dark and driving electric blues drone. "Depth Charge Ethel" heads back to Birthday Party territory. Even its title recalls the strange imagery of those old Birthday Party tunes ("Big Jesus Trashcan," "Pleasure Heads Must Burn," "Zoo Music Girl," etc.). "When My Love Comes Down" is all smoldering intensity anchored by what sounds a bit like bare bones MBV production work in the most overt (but not only) nod to newer studio technology on the album. The album closes with "Love Bomb," which is like a stripped down Stooges song, especially reminicent of "TV Eye," but with half of the racket (which, for me, is usually a big minus, given my lifelong love affair with the Goddess Feedback), but it retains every ounce of intensity that the classic Stooges' records had. (Please note, I said had. Oh, Iggy, why? Your new record made at least two of my friends cry, and not in the good way. Why? Whywhywhywhywhywhy?!?!? )

Grinderman is a great example of how an artist can grow and mature, but still retain that spark of youth. It's funny, smart, strange, loud, dark, and just damn fine rock music. In other words, it's the balls. Nick Cave and the boys have my full attention back; I cannot wait to see this played live and hear whatever comes next.

Due for release in the states on April 10, 2007, it's already out across the pond. Go ahead. Touch their monkey.

It's funny, smart, strange, loud, dark, and just damn fine rock music. In other words, it's the balls. Nick Cave and the boys have my full attention back.

Casino Twilight Dog

Diana Salier — Mon, 26 Mar 2007 08:00:00 +0000

5.5

http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/B000LPR520/wwwthreeimagi-20

youthgroup07mar.jpg

On their third album in seven years, Sydney indie-rock quartet Youth Group tread dangerously close to the semi-hopeful yet melancholic territory that made Coldplay simultaneously annoying and world famous. Take out some of the guitar parts and substitute a piano and you might as well have a repeat of Keane’s "Somewhere Only We Know" or Coldplay’s "The Scientist."

The album opens on some nice guy guitar rock in the vein of Nada Surf with "On A String," in which lead singer Toby Martin serves up a helping of quips about modern love, including "Love’s such a creepy thing/it gets under your skin/starts sticking in pins/and festering." So it’s refreshing to see him stand up for himself on the next track, "Sorry," a delightfully sarcastic indie rock anthem just waiting to happen, and the album’s hands-down best track. The repeated chorus “I’m so sorry/so sorry/I’m so terribly terribly sorry" and the remark “It’s a free world, go out and be an artist" are a relief from the downtrodden spirits that mark most of the album.

At their best, Youth Group sound like they’re still stuck in the 90s era of guitar-driven indie on songs like "Dead Zoo" and "Catch and Kill." The reverb-heavy electric guitar chords on "Daisy Chains" seem to refer slightly back to U2, as does "Forever Young," which was used at one point on the now-deceased O.C.

The album’s sonic arc is its biggest fault. The songs themselves aren’t bad but by the five-minute “The Destruction of Laurel Canyon,” you’re only on the second-to-last track and it still feels like the end is so far away. It wouldn’t be a stretch to say that the band hit some boring points throughout, especially because the album’s obvious climax comes with “Sorry” and starts to slowly drop off afterward with much less interesting material.

The band deserves commendation, however, for writing thoughtful songs with the kind of honest lyrics that are rarely seen in rock bands anymore without coming off as completely trite or saccharine. The individual musicianship is notable as well; each musician’s part is distinctly important to the song’s overall effect and nothing seems too superfluous.

But after a few listens, you’ll find yourself coming back to two or three tracks several times (“On A String,” “Sorry,” and “Dead Zoo”) and basically ignoring the rest.

Sydney indie-rock quartet Youth Group tread dangerously close to the semi-hopeful yet melancholic territory that made Coldplay simultaneously annoying and world famous.

Gone Ain't Gone

Chris Estey — Mon, 10 Oct 2005 07:00:00 +0000

8.5

http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/B000AMJD56/wwwthreeimagi-20

timfite05oct.jpg

Young Tim Fite's debut was heralded by the press as label Anti's first "country/hip-hop" signing, but like most great things, there's more to it than a category or a formula (Sort of like the work of Anti's other beloved artists, including Neko Case, Nick Cave, and Tom Waits). He looks a little like Alfalfa from 'Little Rascals' and he can sound a bit like Snoop Dogg, hence probably the confusion.

The other pleasurable paradoxes of the artist behind Gone Ain't Gone are reflected in a Hall of Mirrors effect, beginning with the fact that Fite scripts and performs real, gritty, substantial songs out of manipulated music he discovers in dollar bins around his Brooklyn home. His apartment is stuffed full of the kind of records many of us flick aside to get to the good stuff at places like Jive Time. He audaciously loops and samples huge chunks of his findings as background for songs that address everything from slacking and love to murder to racial strife to heaven.

That's where the album opens: "I Hope Yer There," a beautiful gospel-themed blues with a concise strummed riff that confidently carries Fite's rhythmic prayers that you make it into the afterlife; then breaking trip-hop style a couple times before a loose, rambling rap tumbles down. The found voice of a preacher quoting scripture near the Southern rock end makes you wonder if this is one of the sickest Christian albums you've ever heard, until a profane Dick Gregory-style quote about taking over the government starts the Irish-jig jazz of the quick next track, "Toasted Rye." Then a Cure-style power pop riff kicks off the "Fight For Your Right To Party" on the album, "No Good Here" ("I've been busy, baby, I've been busy, quitting every job in New York City"). As he yells, "Your money's no good here!" you know this delicious city anthem is going to be downloaded and mix taped into infinity.

Comparisons to De La Soul to Beck spring to mind as he uses the musical spirit of the times to tell the story of the age. That is to say, like Bob Dylan in the early 60s breaking away from the pack of folkies with their primary device, the acoustic guitar, Fite creates dramatic and funny American Gothic short stories out of the elements of his peers today. With a voice reminiscent of Dave Thomas of skronk-daddies Pere Ubu or topical Brit-blues eccentric Kevin Coyne sometimes, with the flow of DMX and Everclear at others, he straddles the race line, something his samples don't forget to do either.

At this point, the album is supposed to fall apart, but the borrowings stay bright (Paul Robeson's awesome soliloquy on the power of music, here known as track six), and the songs stack up creepy and catchy throughout. "Shook" is great art-pop, totally unique. "Took A Wife" is a wonderfully written murder ballad, starting off like a romance and ending up in slaughter. (Thus tying together country death songs and hip-hop violence.) Second from the end, "Away From The Snakes" is a Coyne-style lamentation about poor men being shat on by their women and the rich, yet ends in a gorgeous little pop coda. The closing song to Gone Ain't Gone is the quietly philosophical "The More You Do" ("There's more of you when you're alone, and more of you the more you don't"). It brings us back to Tim Fite's music-crammed apartment, all about everything and nothing, and which for both he and us has served as heaven for awhile.

He looks a little like Alfalfa from 'Little Rascals' and he can sound a bit like Snoop Dogg, hence probably the confusion.