Primus
Green Naugahyde

It's been a loooong time since Primus put out a proper album - 12 fucking years, to be precise, if you're not counting the throwaway EP they put out in the early aughts. In that period, they've toured several times - just long enough to keep people interested - and morphed from funk-punk-prog pioneers into a kind of jam-band for metalheads, managing to make long shows out of 8-song sets. Not that anyone minds - I saw them at Roseland a couple of years ago, and the crowd was so excited they demolished the barricade in front of the stage, something I haven't seen at Roseland ever, despite having seen bands like Slayer and Pantera there. But the question remained in every Primus fan's head: When they do come back, what the fuck are they going to sound like?

I suppose calling myself "ambivalent" about their new release, Green Naugahyde, isn't going to put me in the Music Critic Hall of Fame. But that's how I feel, nevertheless. I so badly want to give this album a good review, it hurts. Because I love Primus, and have since I first heard them in 1991. But I'm a music critic, and I'm an objectivist, so, here goes: The new Primus album is a decent, but not very good, slice of musical pie.

Songs like "Hennepin Crawler" and "Last Salmon Man" sound like Primus songs - that is, they're rhythm-section-driven funk jams with a lot of Zappa-esque guitar in the background - but there's two fundamental things missing here: the thrash and the danger. The thrash sound was a significant element in their early records. You could pogo to this music, or, just as happily, you could beat someone the fuck up to it. No matter how calm the song started, it was only a matter of time before frontman/bassist Les Claypool got around to pounding the shit out of his instrument.

Then there's the danger. No matter how light-hearted Primus songs may sound, they look pretty violent on paper. Someone almost always dies at the end of a Primus song, whether it's "John The Fisherman," swallowed by the ocean, or "Bob," who "hung himself in the doorway of the apartment where he lived," or "Jerry" the race car driver, who died a fiery drunk-driving death. The new songs on Naugahyde lack that element of shit grim-and-gory that made Primus such a bullet in the teeth in the first place. (The only track that maintains a glimmer of this attitude on Naugahyde is "Jilly's On Smack," a dark-ish number whose timbre is constantly belied by Claypool's histronic vocals.)

I think the problem - aside from the band making way for new drummer Jay Lane, the third of their career - can (I hope) be chalked up to the fact that the group hasn't recorded together in at least a decade. They've played old songs in that time, sure, but they haven't functioned as a songwriting unit in quite a while. Here's to hoping they don't wait another 10 years to find their common groove.

Red Hot Chili Peppers
I'm With You

At this point, being disappointed in the Chili Peppers is a little like being a Mets fan - it goes with the territory. The quality of their recorded output has been on a steady decline since career highpoint Blood Sugar Sex Magik, and that was 20 years ago. When I found out that secret weapon guitarist John Frusciante was leaving, and being replaced by relative newcomer Josh Klinghoffer (more on him later), I hoped for a new beginning. Or at least, something better than their last album, the sprawling (and boring) Stadium Arcadium.

I'm With You is that new beginning, but it's also a bit of a letdown. Don't get me wrong, it starts strong: "Monarchy Of Roses" is the hardest, most energetic song the Peppers have recorded in over a decade. Combining pounding drums, distorted vocals, and rapid-fire bass, this is 21st century Chili Peppers at its finest. Follow-up "Factory Of Faith" is a decently funky number too - no complaints here.

Then: thud. "Brendan's Death Song" is the latest in a long line of ballads from the former funk-punk icons, and as usual, frontman Anthony Kiedis' attempts to sound serious are about as solemn as a priest playing pick-up-sticks with his buttcheeks. In fact (as usual), Kiedis remains the weakest link in the band, laying down borderline retarded raps over otherwise semi-decent songs all over the album.

The second weakest link? Josh Klinghoffer, the new guitarist. My God, is this guy boring. I would describe his instrumental style, if only he had one. Most of the time, he remains content to follow the rhythm section around like a lost puppy. Which leaves it up to bassist Michael Balzary (I refuse to call a man in his 40s "Flea," no matter how he colors his hair) and drummer Chad Smith to carry the show.

They do, but barely. At this point, even the talented members of this band are running out of steam. There are a few good songs towards the end of the album ("Even You Brutus," in particular, makes excellent use of the piano), but it's a too-little-too-late scenario all around. I'll always be a Chili Peppers fan - I've followed them this far, might as well see this shit out to the end - but I'll always be a little disappointed, too.

Various Artists
Muppets: The Green Album

Look, you don't fuck with the Muppets, okay? They're a veritable institution for people of my generation. Smarter than Sesame Street and with better production values than The Electric Company, the Muppets have been revered since their invention in the late 70s as the touchstone for fun, educational puppeteering. I don't care if you can see the sticks and wires; that shit was fun. You don't fucking front on the Muppets.

So if you're going to release a high profile tribute album featuring some of today's hottest acts, you pick and choose those acts with a discriminating air. Or, maybe not. Whoever put out this farce of a collection (Disneymusic, I'm looking at you) needs to be pinned to a wall.

I mean, check out these artists: The Fray? Alkaline Trio? Some douchebag from Atreyu? What is this, K-Tel Presents Emo Hits! Sounds Of The 00's? You know when the best band here is My Morning Jacket, something foul is afoot. Maybe the budget was bad, maybe the selector has his head up his ass, I don't know. What I do know is, this album is mostly a travesty - a spit in Kermit's bulging half-moon eye.

Given that the majority of these hacks have no innate talent, it's up to the original writers of the songs to provide most of the artistic heft. Sure, "Mahna Mahna" is a classic, but what do The Fray bring to it? Nothing. Same goes for the "Muppet Show Theme" (OK Go) and "Rainbow Connection," which Weezer and Paramore front-cunt Hayley Williams butcher. Where are the artists whose playful sense of whimsy - The Flaming Lips, Green Day, Jesus, anybody but who's here - could give these songs something other than a straight-faced reading?

The only highlight is a cover of "Bein' Green" by Andrew Bird, who lends an aura of sincerity to the proceedings that the song demands. Otherwise, this collection is more than a complete and total dud - it's an insult in a Digipack.

Faith No More
Angel Dust

This one's for Ted, who openly challenged me to do it on Facebook.

Faith No More was already a band when vocalist Mike Patton joined for their third album, The Real Thing, in the late 80s. But they weren't a great band, and The Real Thing, despite its popularity (and the enduring single, "Epic"), didn't really change that. It wasn't until Patton grew comfortable with the band - and the band grew comfortable with Patton - that they achieved brilliance. They found that genius on the follow-up, Angel Dust, one of the most confounding, bizarre albums ever to be released on a major label.

The first time I heard Angel Dust, I was a newbie to Faith No More, and didn't know what to make of it - only the poppy "Everything's Ruined" and the thrashier "Malpractice" stuck with me, while the other songs whipped by in a total blur. My loss. Just about everything here is a perfect song. "Land Of Sunshine" carries over The Real Thing's penchant for an immediate opening with heavy guitar and keyboard; the lyrics are taken from fortune cookies and late-night TV. The lyrics on the next song, "Caffeine," make no sense, but the song throttles forward on its own bad will towards threatening ends. "Midlife Crisis," perhaps the best known song here, merges pop and rock in such an audacious way that it barely charted as a single. "RV" is a country song in waltz-time.

And so it goes. There's so much to cover here - the death metal of "Jizzlobber," the avant-garde "A Small Victory," etc. - that I could go on all week. Suffice it to say this is never a boring listen. Closing with an ocarina-driven cover of John Barry's theme to "Midnight Cowboy" (I mean, what the fuck?!), Angel Dust is Faith No More's finest moment, and their most enduring masterpiece.

Three 65, Day 55
Melvins, Houdini

Melvins are a power trio (except when they're a four piece) from the Seattle area, consisting of Buzz Osbourne on guitar/vocals, Dale Crover on drums, and whoever is unlucky enough to be playing bass guitar with them at any given time. The reason I say "unlucky" is because Melvins (I refuse to call them "the" Melvins, I don't care what the press notes say, la la la la la) go through bass players like a pubescent boy goes through Kleenex and Vaseline.

Despite this problem with the bottom end, they're one of the best bands around. You want to talk about grunge, forget Nirvana, and fucking forget Pearl Jam - this is the real shit, right here. Slow, dirty, and heavy as fuck, Melvins have been churning shit out for over 20 years, without hiatuses or vacations to slow them down. And while some of it may be downright unlistenable - once every four or five releases, Melvins screws the pooch and releases something you just can't enjoy, just, like, a full hour of feedback or something - much of it is very, very good.

Houdini is the best of the best. From the rumbling intro of "Night Goat" to the spry pop of "Set Me Straight," this record finds the band at the height of its powers. Maybe it's because Kurt Cobain had recently introduced Melvins to a major label and helped produce, or maybe it was just their turn to be amazing. Who else could make a cover of Kiss' "Goin' Blind" into a funeral dirge, huh?

I saw Melvins open for Primus in 1993, shortly after starting college, and at the time, I had no idea who the hell they were. They scared the pants off of me with a cover of Led Zeppelin's "When The Levee Breaks" before roaring through "Hooch," the first number on Houdini. "Hooch" is nothing but nonsense words strung together by heavy percussion and turgid metal riffs. Come to think of it, that describes every Melvins song. Long may they rule!

Three 65, Day 54
Jesu, Silver EP

Jesu is a project that falls under the "Justin K. Broadrick" umbrella. For those of you out there who don't know who Broadrick is (probably many of you), here's a quick refresher course. He was a pioneering member of Napalm Death, back before grindcore even had a name, and went on to found Godflesh, one of the best industrial bands in existence. After their demise, he took on a lot of other names - Techno Animal, Ice, Final, etc. - but the one that garnered the most interest was Jesu.

Initially a combination of My Bloody Valentine-style feedback washes and crushing guitar and drums, Jesu quickly morphed into the closest thing Broadrick has ever done that's "pop." Silver was his second release, and it opened up the door to exposure in a lot more venues than Broadrick had ever enjoyed before.

The title track opens the record with lush, melodic guitars and a wave of purest feedback. Somewhere in there, Broadrick's vocals - usually grunting and drill-sergeant shouting - croon about age and death in a style that's almost palatable. "Star" is one of the best pop songs he's ever recorded, a long piece with propulsive drumming that picks up the energy level and carries it straight through to the remaining two tracks, "Wolves" and "Dead Eyes." (Someone at Pitchfork.com once said you could assemble any number of indie band names from the song titles found here. Haha, Pitchfork - one on you.)

The entire record effectively captures the mood caught on the front cover of the album: that of being lost in a large, foggy wood somewhere around dawn, deep in the winter. It's cold, it's lonely, it's aching - everything a Jesu album should be.

Three 65, Day 53
Black Sabbath, Master Of Reality

Master Of Reality was where Black Sabbath really refined its sound into a pure, elemental force. The first album, Black Sabbath, had a lot of dabbling in proto-metal and blues, and the second album, the landmark Paranoid, was a breath of fresh air. But Reality is where the band really hits the mark.

The most important thing to remember in talking about early Black Sabbath is, simply, when these albums were first released, there were no reference points. Sure, there was stuff by The Doors, and Blue Cheer, and a couple of others. But Black Sabbath was doing something no one else had even considered. Metal? What the fuck was that? Even vocalist Ozzy Osbourne, for decades the very face of heavy metal, couldn't fathom the term.

So what sounds staid to your ears is really revolutionary, considering the time period. Take the soloing halfway through "After Forever," which hasn't appeared - anywhere (except maybe on a Sabbath album) - previously. Ditto the solid riffing, which was like blues sped up to a gallop. (And people call Sabbath "slow and crushing.")

"Sweet Leaf" opens the album with a paean to pot, one of Ozzy's (many) drugs of choice. The aforementioned "After Forever" gets inside the head of a religious man, which is valiant, considering many of Black Sabbath's songs deal with the devil. "Children Of The Grave" features one of the most identifiable, beautiful riffs to ever darken a heavy metal song. One listen to that throbbing grind and you can actually hear the furious dead kids stampeding across the English countryside.

Sabbath would release other good albums - they still had three decent ones left in them at the time of this record's release, although ambition - and, to a lesser extent, keyboards - would eventually do them in. But for my money, if I'm going to listen to Sabbath, and I want the pure stuff, I turn to Master Of Reality, every time.