Scroll down for reviews of the latest from Dada, Jeff Finlin and Hindurodeo

Rusty Anderson
Undressing Underwater

(Oxide Records)

Release Date: December 17, 2003

www.rustyanderson.com

In a certain sense, Rusty Anderson is a throwback to the golden age of rock and roll. This talented musician is a whiz on guitar, bass, pedal steel, vibes and more, often reproducing the kind of sounds that seemed lost decades ago. His abilities obviously aren't in question -- he's skilled enough to be selected by Paul McCartney for his album Driving Rain, the recent Back in the U.S. and subsequent world tours and ongoing projects (including a new CD in the works).

So with that Beatle connection, you find yourself rooting for this debut solo effort to be great. And as a do-it-yourselfer, Anderson proves more than adept as producer (along with musician friend and co-producer Parthenon Huxley), layering sounds and instruments in intricate ways that recall the best records of long ago.

Yet while Undressing Underwater is very good and technically proficient, it falls short of greatness. Guitar aficionados will love the way Anderson serves up incredible guitar sounds, and some may buy the CD merely for the guest cameo performances. But while this is a good album, the material itself seems somewhat limited. I found myself wanting more of the kind of tunes that linger on in your head long after you've done listening. And while these songs are a nice collection of lush, richly layered efforts, most of them don't seem to reverberate very far above and beyond that.

The CD leads with its most commercial song, the delectable "Hurt Myself," featuring most of the touring McCartney band (Sir Paul on bass and backing vox, Abe Laboriel Jr. on drums, David Kahne on keyboards and production duties, Wix Wickens adding some additional keyboards). This track of a self-destructive someone who refuses to be anyone's victim other than himself, comes closest to meeting whatever Beatle-esque expectations you might bring to a listen, and features some fine Probyn Gregory flugelhorn.

"Coming Down To Earth" is a soft ballad (with a wonderful reverse guitar solo) about how desires for solid ground and safe assurances often get lost in the reality of unexpected change: "looks like another change of things / empty hole that once was certainty / oh yeah, so it's time to believe me / 'cause gravity has no feelings / I'm coming down to earth now, I'm coming back down / I'm coming down to earth now, I've had to let go."

The slow-building "Damaged Goods" was written with Paul Plagens, shortly before Anderson joined up with McCartney. It was at the tail end of a band they were in called "Peel," and this track features several of those band members (Jim Cushinery, Abe Baruck on drums). The pretty and intense song is about stumbling upon good things, dreams coming true, yet being unable to accept it mentally or emotionally: "Sometimes I feel like I'm living someone else's life / 'cause this one ain't mine / I used to have one that I left behind."

One of my favorites here is "Electric Trains." Co-written and produced with Parthenon Huxley (and featuring Hux sideman Gordon Townsend on drums, John Krovoza on cello and Ted Falcon on violin), this is an emotional remembrance of Rusty's older brother who died when he was very young. The smell conjures the fond memories, where he remains alive forever: "Everything that I've become is tied up in the sum of failed attempts and forgotten sweet successes / but I'd give it all away to have just one more day of thinking you would be around forever / I know what it's like for a world to end when I find myself going down that track again / I can always remember / always remember / I'll always remember the smell of electric trains."

The newest song here (another Huxley collaboration) is "Sentimental Chaos" about bravely facing one's demons head-on: "My life is a junkyard of emotions that I can't discard / when I feel empty the wind is a lonely sound blowing through the scraps scattered on the ground / Never rusted from the rain, they invincibly remain, in my soul and in my brain / You don't scare me anymore."

"Ol' Sparky" is another co-written, co-produced with Huxley (again, shades of great Beatle-esque production touches here). This rhythm-driven track is about Anderson's experiences touring with his old band Edna Swap (they released 4 major label CDs from 1995-1998). It's all about the friction that develops while touring and having to be your own cheerleader throughout the experience: "And you don't know how much longer chaos will be kind / you gotta keep the spark alive / kiss your own ass if nobody else will."

Another layered and lush production awaits you on the track "Ishmael," inspired by the eponymous award-winning book by Daniel Quinn. The novel is about a man searching for the truth, who finds as a teacher a full-grown gorilla who turns out to be wiser than ever imagined. This Ishmael tells a story that extends over the lifespan of the earth up to a point where the future still can be saved, should mankind learn to open its eyes to things.

Anderson's song asks for such an awakening to the realities present in Darwin's kingdom: "Goodbye window, hello wall / show me the way out of the shopping mall / A panacea bliss, sweet as Satan's kiss, everybody knows the scene will not be this/ And you think you're flying but you're really falling."

"Devil's Spaceship" kicks things up a notch, rock-wise (Anderson's "Helter-Skelter," if you will). Anderson's guitar is on fire here on this song about dating hell, feeling out of your element (chock full of extended metaphor). Scot Coogan does a nice turn on drums, Paul Bushnell guests on bass, and Anderson's cousin Karl Brown adds piano.

The instrumental "Catbox Beach" is a surf rock instrumental that shows Anderson's uncanny ability to transcend styles. The song grew from an experiment in trying to write a classical piece, until Anderson recognized it for what it had become. Stewart Copeland plays the drums here while Brian Ray handles the bass. Copeland's playing is subtle and masterful, and in deference to his musical past, Anderson includes a reggae middle bridge.

The closing track "Everybody Deserves An A In This Country" is a sort of grade-B glam-rock anthem (and developed from a jam during a mushroom tripping experience).

Undressing Underwater is an impressive debut from a startlingly talented musician who has taken a lot of time to get things right. From track to track, there are layers of intricate sounds, impressively arranged and executed. Repeated listening reveals more of that subtle intricacy, but again, I did feel some of the songs could be stronger.

Perhaps I judge far too harshly (and probably I do), expecting something memorably Beatles-like from Rusty Anderson. But given the strength of his guitar skills, and the way he can coax a world of tonal variety out of his efforts, I still look forward to whatever music he'll bring our way going forward.

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Dada
How To Be Found

(Blue Cave Records)

Release Date: March 2, 2004

www.dadatheband.com

The band that broke apart is back together again, happily. After an "extended vacation" that stretched from June 1999 until March 2003 and included intriguing side projects, the trio have reunited again collectively as Dada and currently are touring in support of the release of their fifth studio album, How To Be Found, a collection of previously unreleased tracks that's a must-have for true fans.

In the intervening 4 years, Michael Gurley and Phil Leavitt along with bassist Aaron Schwoerer formed the band Butterfly Jones (whose album *Napalm Springs* topped my best of 2002 list). That band continues to exist (and word has it Gurley has written a second album's worth of material, to be recorded and released later this year), as does the jazz trio Michael Gurley and The Nightcaps (Gurley, Leavitt and keyboardist John Gilmore), who have put out two independent CDs of their own.

Drummer Leavitt also has performed regularly with the Blue Man Group, and still often performs with Uberschall (a collection of Blue Man Group drummers) in Las Vegas. He did some work with The Gin Blossoms in 2002, and also has kept busy doing lots of voiceover work.

Joie Calio has been busy as well. He moved his family from Los Angeles to Seattle and began working as an A&R rep for MCA Records, scouting new musical talent. He also has been writing new music. A promotional single garnered acclaim enough to get approval for more songs to be recorded under the band name Candy Apple Black. Calio continued to perform solo around the Seattle area, wrote a soon-to-be-published book and recorded a solo album (The Complications of Glitter).

So, after all that time and musical stretching, these three are back with thirteen songs that for one reason or another never made the cut on previous albums. As these tracks were from different times (and mixed by either Bob Clearmountain, Scott Gordon or Tom Lord-Alge), this collection understandably seems less unified as a whole than previous albums. These songs, on the whole, seem softer and more moody, wearing blues and jazz accents more openly. Yet repeated listens reveal their quality and distinctive charms.

While some past Dada songs were more instantly accessible, true fans know the band's best efforts always have been those that grow on you gradually, wending their way into your subconscious as if time-released and making their mark forever after.

As such, do not be hasty to judge the songs of How To Be Found after a first, second or even third listen. I'd recommend a minimum of ten listens or more to truly start sorting through this material. What you'll likely find is that songs you previously dismissed come back strong to haunt you, and that you'll likely change your choice of favorite song time and again.

That's the fun of this collection. The initial listen you might say no big deal, that's probably why these songs never made the cut in the first place. Then keep listening more, perhaps over the course of several days. All of a sudden these songs come to life as strong unique entities, their individual musical charms suddenly apparent.

First off, understand the dynamics of Dada. Harmony remains an integral part of the music - and the dual lead vocals of Gurley and Calio (plus Leavitt's backing vox) are as expressive and pleasant as ever. However, the fourth voice is the strongest and most expressive - that of Gurley's guitar. Here is a true old-school rock guitarist, whose jazz and blues influences come out in leads and fills that add depth and flavor throughout.

Another Dada constant are smart lyrics, harnessing adolescent urges into very emotional, occasionally witty, cavalier and oft-obscure tangents.

The CD opens with "The Next Train Out of Mind," an ode to restlessness from being stuck in a small town. While the invitation is to leave on the next train out of his mind, disappointed inertia seems to triumph: "Somebody already climbed every mountain / somebody already walked on the moon / Ain't nothing left to discover / Ain't no reason to leave this room / And when I get up in the morning and I stand there paralyzed / 'cause you know I look at my own reflection / you know I'm seeing my old man's eyes." Ultimately, the ticket out is to "get a Mel Bay book" to learn how to play guitar -- and there's some fine low-key noodling at song's end to back up that lyrical point.

"It's All Mine" is a rhythm-driven ditty, simple and repetitive, about the adolescent desire to own the night: "There's nothing better than a car / A hundred miles per hour in the dark / I close my eyes and take my hands off the wheel / No better way to find out who you are." Another fairly straightforward catchy, beat-driven love song is "Nothing Like You."

If you want a love song of a different stripe, try the breezy "Any Day The Wind Blows." Here's the story of a free spirit who is anything but loyal to her man: "You might find her kissing someone who is a loser / who is a bruiser / who will abuse her 'til she's had her fill / who is a user / She likes a cruiser / when she gets an extra afternoon to fill."

The title track is a sweet little Dada number that seems to teeter delicately on minor chords that find short pleasing major resolutions. This is a plea for all of us to enjoy ourselves during our short lifetimes, to find salvation in music ("Even Warhol needed songs") and other sound advice: "Walk through the door / You're leaving the crowd / Open your mind / To hear the sound / A voice from above / And one from the ground / Leading you on / How to be found." The dual vocals work well here, and the solo is another jazzy Gurley gem.

Fans of the harder edged side of Dada will favor the song "Crumble." The harmonies work in tandem with the guitar parts, and the middle bridge is a melodic window that opens up the way to a great solo. This tale of falling apart is radio ready at just over the 3-minute mark.

As a fan of the more melodic, bluesy numbers here, I'm currently favoring "Guitar Girl," which sounds to these ears very much like it could be a Butterfly Jones number. It's a "story song," telling of a German girl who sings American blues on the street to soothe the pains of all who listen: "On the streets of Munich / tonight you can hear the ghosts of delta kings and Harlem queens / and cool jazz from the coast / a million minor chords can really take its toll / on a young fraulein searching for her soul / with an angel's voice that smokes too many cigarettes / and if you help her out / she's gonna help you to forget."

Another great "story song" is the somber, melodic and infectious "What's Happening To Steven." This is concern for a friend who's losing it, rife with harmonies and displaying the tight backbeat held together by Calio and Leavitt.

Another song girl here is "Blue Girl," long a staple at live Dada performances. I like the soft bluesy guitar opening, love the aching harmonies, and enjoy the song's message: urging said blue girl to open up, cry and let it all out. The singer notes that he "just might be the one, the one who will understand" and wants to "be there when the rain starts to fall." All told, a beautiful piece, and typically Dada - emotional and melodic and uber-catchy.

There are softer ballads here as well. "My Life Could Be Different" is a quiet plea for someone to talk to, a place to go to that won't weigh him down so much, a dream of change. Dada puts on a funk groove with "Reason," a balladic plea asking for a second chance, making promises for a hopeful next time.

"I Wish You Were Here Now" is at first so laid back it's almost trance inducing, then builds into something more (and has fine lead vocals). Lyrically, it's all simple thoughts - hopes and dreams - the kind you might have written in high school: "I wish you were here now / I'm feeling low / I wonder how you are / I miss you so."

Another song that builds from quiet to loud is the philosophical closer "Love Is A Weird Thing." This jazz-infused poser makes the title observation about love as well as that "life is a strange bird, flying upside down against the wind."

Dada have come a long way from their roots in the early '90s, when Michael Gurley tempted fate. His sister's husband owned a Los Angeles car dealership, and when Gurley delivered a car to Miles Copeland, then manager of The Police, he took the liberty of leaving a demo tape in the cassette player. The rest, as they say, is history.

I'm sure that many are glad to hear that the talents comprising Dada are again back in action. Over these past few weeks, I've grown even more fond of *How To Be Found* and its crisp clean sound (the production never is overdone). While it might not be the best album ever created by the trio, it's certainly chock full of intelligent rock songs that stand above most of what's currently being foisted upon us on commercial radio.

How To Be Found probably won't garner millions in sales or provide Dada with widespread popularity. But with Dada, it's all about the craft of the music - smart, melodic, well-executed guitar and harmony based songs. Give this new one many a spin and let the songs reveal themselves to you -- you won't be disappointed.

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Jeff Finlin
Somewhere South Of Wonder

(Bent Wheel)

Release Date: March 1, 2004

www.jefffinlin.com

A distinctively gruff troubadour's voice, a well-read poet's sensitivity and an emotional honesty in conveying bluesy hard-won angst - those are the disparate elements that combine in the soulful music of the American original known as Jeff Finlin.

On this, his third solo album, Finlin presents a collection of grizzled rootsy musical tales that evoke timeless Americana -- the dusty feel of a Western desert expanse, the inescapable hot of a delta town in a Southern summer, cotton fields, prairies, everywhere and nowhere. These are the settings for the everyman/woman plain folk that populate the poignant tracks of Somewhere South Of Wonder.

The sounds here are simple and direct, presenting an immediacy and intimacy akin to the sounds of a T. Bone Burnett or Gary Myrick. Finlin's voice is unique and rough, yet similar in tone at times to many others, from Bob Dylan to Tom Petty to Greg Brown to Steve Earle to Tom Waits.

Finlin has been in the music biz for over twenty years now, a well-traveled career that dates back to Boston's post-punk scene in the '80s. After a relatively brief career drumming for The Thieves, Finlin took his guitar and piano skills and turned solo with 1997's Highway Diaries, followed by 1999's Original Fin. On this third collection, he's teamed up with musician friend Pat Buchanan (The Idle Jets) on several tracks (and with Laron Pendergrass on others) to produce a sometimes stark, often beautiful soundscape.

The CD opens with the plaintive confession/lament of "I Am The King," with Finlin handling drums, guitar, piano, accordion, percussion and vocals (with help from Buchanan and bass player Dave Jacques). This haunting tale from the much-celebrated king charts a long circuit of progress: "Walked alone on a desert floor / Lost my vote and knelt and prayed / Killed the cop and lost the world / while the credits rolled and a river hymn played / Died alone up upon that hill / Rose again through the rusty clay / Sat dead still in your open arms till I found myself in another man's face."

The bittersweet "Sugar Blue" (featuring Will Kimbrough on slide guitar), examines a failed past relationship by "holding darkness up to the light" in order to find right in what went wrong, aided by railroad gin and the lonely raven's song at night.

Not all is woeful for our man Finlin's characters. The singer of "Summertime" is drunk on love, feeling good and so right and an integral part of the season, laying low with his desired one in their respective underwear.

"Good Time" may sound like an upbeat John Hiatt tune, yet it plants tongue firmly in cheek as it offers an acerbic view of that narrow-minded small town American life: "We got souls somewhere south of wonder / Trailers flying across the prairie / Cars with doors of many colors / Conviction, yeah - we're beating up the fairies / It ain't nothing but a good time."

We're back to the emptiness of love's hollow goodbyes with the soft strains of "Delta Down." Home is just a heartache in this hapless reminisce: "Just when I think I'm there / Smiles turn into despair / Thorns where there used to be a crown." There are some fine solos here on harmonica (by Pat Buchanan) and piano (Finlin).

The short but repetitious blues romp of "Which Way?" is a lighthearted toss of a song, examining rough and ready Southern love: "She got grits and gravy, clay and greens / Sweet potatoes and Vaseline / She got the monkey touch / So squeaky clean / I say come here baby, she says what do you mean."

My contention about what makes Jeff Finlin so special is the way he matches his insight into the depths of human feeling to a sweet melody. He achieves this well in the beautiful and poetic "Alchemy," wherein "a plain man beyond repair" lives an ordinary life but for a dream of an embrace and to see the face of his love next to him: "we're just a movement and not to prove it / to face the love, to move on through it / a simple choice for you and me / broken down in Alchemy."

Another song that quietly contemplates the small miracles and wisdom of everyday life's events is the dulcet "Miracle Along The Way." Here Moses parts the seas before his eyes in the bottom of his paper coffee cup "and says everything there is to get / you've had inside you all along."

A man stuck at a bleak dead-end is the subject of the deceptively upbeat-sounding "Where Do We Go." The words reveal that he's standing on a bridge in the Mississippi night, asking to be shown the way, wondering "Where we gonna go from here?"

Jeff Finlin never seems at a loss for words. But while his lyrics stretch longer than most, there's no sacrificing quality for quantity - each word evokes a crafty picture in telling the full tale. "Sugar Blue Too" is chock full of stories within stories as our loner man walks the dark streets, whispering love talk to his sugar blue: "In a tragedy so blue, so black / The hole it's big, it's dark, it's round / And you can't fill it up with what you lack / I've lived outside so long / I've got no clue for looking in / I've got the key right to the door / But all I know how to do is kick it in."

The closing title track is a bluesy exploration of contentment (yes, contentment) in a world Finlin's singer can call his own, heat countered by cool drinks in hand and a love that survives troubles: "Kiss me once again dear / our golden rings have turned to steel / good thing we chose the love hon / And found that smiles can grow from tears." It's a fitting summary piece to bookend all that's come before it.

While Finlin's vocals might remain an acquired taste, his skill for marrying smart yet simple honest narrative to fresh intimate melodies elevates him far above the average musical fray. Somewhere South Of Wonder is an earthy mix of heartfelt blues from everyday folks coping with life and love, joy and despair, expressed through the raspy filter of Finlin's compelling voice.

Right now, Finlin has his largest following in the U.K. (where he tours regularly). Perhaps this latest release will win him the larger acclaim this veteran troubadour deserves. These haunting musical tales weave an aural tapestry that bears closer examination on lazy afternoons and in the wee hours of the night, where its powerful sounds best fill the lonely empty spaces of an oft-moody, quietly unpredictable universe.

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Hindurodeo
Nalladaloobr

(Awkward Pop)

Release Date: July 4, 2003

www.hindurodeo.com

Sometimes deep inside the tall mysterious stack of new jewel cases that balances precariously near the edge of the reviewer's desk, there lies a hidden gem, a musical surprise that elicits smiles on first listen and upon further examination gets the official "happy discovery" assignation. Hindurodeo's sophomore effort Nalladaloobr is one such find, a fantastic thirteen song collection steeped in tuneful cynicism that dares you to go ahead and love it.

Hindurodeo champions the disaffected card-carrying intellectual elite of power-pop, a moniker sadly no longer even remotely connected to the term "popular." These songs manage to tout this latest generation coming of age in the new millennium while at the same time poking fun at them. Songwriter, bassist, lead vocalist and main creative force Joel Sayles does this in a convincing manner, his acerbic vitriol filtered through pleasant well-crafted songs that sport melody, harmony and infectious hooks.

With 7 years between records, there was plenty of time to create fine music - and Nalladaloobr delivers the goods. Each track has its merits. Sayles hooks up again with bandmates Dirk Freymuth (guitar) and Jimi Englund (drums) to create pretty sounds that often camouflage the message of malcontent.

The CD opens with "World Go Round," a sort of pessimistic universal disclaimer dressed up with a driving guitar chorus: "As soon as you start you're finished / As soon as you're up you're down / As soon as something's in sight / I'm sure that nothing goes right / I'm watching my world go around." The track features a great lead from Freymuth, and gives a nice display of Sayles' vocal range.

Doing a group bio of Hindurodeo is made redundant by the swift song "Radio Ready." Joel introduces all three members, then explains the ethos behind the group: "We're radio ready / we're thoroughly modern / A veritable kamikaze squadron of top ten hits headed to the bottom." No surfeit of optimism here folks, just confessions of arrogance, conceit and failure - hard to believe in light of the song's magnetic appeal, clever wordplay, harmonies, hooks and fine electric sitar lead.

With "I Get Ahead Of Myself," Sayles gets to show off his skills as a bass player. The bass lines are the glue holding together this very infectious tune, and the lead vocals play a great counterpoint to the harmonies in the chorus. Our impatient narrator puts cart before horse time and again: "I learn how to speak / I've nothing to say / Then I'm brokering the peace and taking all the guns away."

Many of these songs are short but sweet, yet full to the brim with complex thoughts and wonderfully nimble imagery. This certainly is the case with "Each Day," clocking in at under 2 minutes, yet capable of such verbal pictures as this: "Each moment is the mangy mutt whose master is Chrissy Hynde / And I'm the desperate downstairs Korean chef short one special of the night."

The next two songs hold our complacent American lives up to scrutiny. First there's the "radio ready" strains of "McLife," in which it's made plain how our fast-food agenda has extended far beyond the golden arches: "I don't ever dream / I live the Mclie / I learn to Mclive / now I guess I'll Mcdie." This is a cute bit of tuneful censure, easy to swallow with a smile. I guess you could say "I'm lovin' it."

Next is the haunting "American People," quick to point out the dichotomies inherent in this land of the free, home of the brave (e.g., "American people need love, American people preach hate"). The statements, oft contradictory, are presented one upon another without comment or judgment, testament to the wide realm of identities that encompass us as a nation.

One of my favorites (and there are many here) is the catchy pseudo-ska ballad "Somebody's Eyes." Here we're reminded of life's limitations and given an ultimate hint of hope that maybe we can skate above the fray: "You can be sure that all the experts with their new hypotheses / will search their brain just to explain why something won't be / We're always disappointing / We're always undermined / We're always gonna be looking for something we can't find."

Writing delectable pop nuggets seems to come easy for Sayles. "Pledge" is another of these, a musical stand against the forced influence of others. "Dumb It Down" is the age-old dilemma, quality diluted for the younger masses presented as a universal truth, though there's plenty of tongue in cheek: "They say you can't go wrong / They say you won't go broke / When you underestimate your average common folk / You better dumb it down / the bottom of the bottom is the common ground."

One of the more emotionally true songs I've heard in recent years is "Band With My Dad," all about a senior stuck in a band with his dad, and faced with the realization that he can't abandon him: "He kinda seems out of place / He's playing Wipeout 'til he's blue in the face / I can't ask him to quit / He owns all the gear and the rehearsal space."

There's love and family loyalty at play, and that comes across magically.

The smart, privileged and bored kid in "Any Other Way" wallows while "waiting for the whole world to roar / my genius you proclaim." Still, this nice guitar-laced tune informs us he "wouldn't want it any other way." Similarly, the couch potato in the pleasant "Another Monday" is eager to get his life in order, it being a new work week and all: "the slate is clean / I'm ready to engage / I'm pretty sure that someday I'll cast away the guilt / get some confidence built / and accept what I really am."

The CD closes with the rocking brutal truth of "Strip Bar." Here that seedy environ is seen for the pathetic place it is, the sexually frustrated getting further sexually frustrated and trying to fool themselves into the lie of it all: "She knows she won't / you're sure she will / So you ply her with your crisp one-dollar bill / Reminding her that you're the world's greatest lover."

The production values add to the overall picture: the sound is crisp and clear, serving the music well. Sayles might be a witty, funny wiseass - but he writes some phenomenal music. In a just world, Hindurodeo would get the kind of wide commercial coverage they deserve. Instead, lesser musical brethren reap the rewards of the hype machine, while these smart boys remain an obscure treat.

Each time I listen to Nalladaloobr, it never fails to bring a smile to my face. Sayles and Freymuth and Englund are gifted, even if their song messages seem more than a bit jaded and anchored in self-deprecation. I urge you to get this previously hidden treasure yourself: give it a listen, make the happy musical discovery, and share the smiles it brings.

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