In The Changer

Amadou & Mariam: Dimanche A Bimako: I am an impulse shopper at the bookstore and anywhere cd's and dvd's are sold. This is a fact of who I am, and rather than deny or fight it, I celebrate my consumerism. This cd is one reason why. When I was killing time in Arlington in April, when I went up to see the Sox play the Rangers in the season opening series, I found a used cd store. While browsing for a few nuggets I had been unable to unearth elsewhere and for which I was not inclined to pay full price of a new cd, I was shaken to the roots by French Afropop music blaring from the store's speakers. My French is pretty rusty, and never was that strong to begin with, but it did not matter. The rhythms, the guitars, the vocal interplay between man and woman. I had to have it. So I went and spoke with the guy behind the counter, and he gave me the skinny. "Amadou and Mariam," he said, "rock." I'm not quite sure I'd use "rock." They shimmy. They slither. They penetrate. They roll. This Malian husband-wife pairing manipulate and master African rhythms and sounds and reconfigure them in brilliant and unexpected ways. Awww, hell. They rock. Do your ears a favor. Buy this album now. A

Tori Amos: The Beekeeper: I loved Tori Amos' first couple of albums, and indulged her for a few more. I do not know if she lost me, or if I lost her, or if it was mutual. I suppose it is not important if she became too flighty for me or me too intolerant for her. But for whatever reason, she fell out of relevance in my cd collection at the fin de siecle, and it seemed there was nothing to be done about it. For prolific music buyers, this is a common happening. We cannot be completists about all artists because as it is we have a hard time keeping up with that for which we lust. But for whatever reason, I decided to give her another chance with her latest album. It is good. It is not great, and in one of the standard lamentations you have read here, it is too damned long. It consists of 19 songs where 12 would have sufficed. And one song, "The Power of Orange Knickers," has the dumbest lyrics this side of Lennie Kravitz. They are so bad, I cringe in embarrassment for someone -- whether for her or for me, I am uncertain. I do not know if this signals a reconciliation or merely a last fling. Then again, we rarely do in these situations, do we? B

Fiona Apple:Extraordinary Machine: Then there are the artists that I never really much cared for, but they come up with a new album and I forget my antipathy and buy into the hype, or I remember my antipathy, but the hype makes me think that maybe they have changed, or maybe I have. I'm sure this is a fine album. I'm sure it is me who is wrong, and not all of the people praising it. I'm sure that the fact that I thought her first album sucked and that on principle I refused to buy an album so pretentious its title was nearly 100 words long, as was the case with her last offering, represents a failure of vision and openmindedness on my part. But the thing is, Fiona, I've kind of started things up again with this girl Tori, and it wouldn't really be fair to either of us, and well, you know, maybe we can be friends. C+

Jack Johnson:Sing-A-Longs and Lullabies for the Film Curious George: I thought the movie was cute as a button, and I enjoyed the soundtrack. So did Ana, and since she does not like a lot of my music (horrible, horrible taste, that girl) I figure any time we can find something we can both tolerate, I am going to buy it. In the changer at night I frontload with two discs I know she will like and can fall asleep to, and the other three slots are mine. If you have kids, and especially if they have seen and liked the movie, this will be a goldmine. Johnson is a talented musician and his style suits the vibe. Kids can dance and sing to it, Ana can sleep to it, and I can work with it on. Everyone wins. A-