Tom Waits

“Real Gone” (Anti)

Compare to: Joni Mitchell, Leonard Cohen, Neil Young

It’s becoming impossible to find any more adjectives to describe Tom Waits’ music.

Ever since releasing his debut album more than 20 years ago, Waits has crafted so many amazing records that to call his latest release, “Real Gone,” a masterpiece simply doesn’t do it justice.

“Real Gone” is a perfect continuation to Waits’ ever-evolving style. While it may contain similarities to his previous works, “Real Gone” is a truly creative and refreshing album born from the mind of one of the most incredible songwriters ever.

The album finds Waits experimenting with new styles and instruments, including turntables and vocal percussions that give the album its own identity amid his already extensive catalog.

The most interesting thing about the instrumentation on “Real Gone” is its absence of the piano.

Although Waits’ career has been defined in part due to his experimentation with new instruments, he has always included several piano-driven songs in his work. The absence of piano and the stripped-down production give the album a very different feel reminiscent of his 1999 release “Mule Variations.”

“Real Gone” also marks Waits’ first attempt to create different vocal timbres, a daring move considering few artists are able to pull it off. Waits’ gruff, vocally produced beats, combined with his signature, deep voice and dark lyrics, set a macabre tone that resonates throughout the entire album.

Lyrically, “Real Gone” is full of themes common in his work. Waits has always been the poet for the underdog, telling woeful tales of love and loss set in dirty bars, circus tents and lonely alleys, complete with vibrant casts of hustlers, gypsies and drunks.

Songs like “How’s It Gonna End” showcase some of the most remarkable lyrics Waits has ever written: “He had three whole dollars/ A worn out car/ And a wife who was leaving for good/ Life’s made of trouble, worry pain and struggle.”

It is lyrics like these that make this the perfect soundtrack for the life of a man down on his luck.

— Dante Sacomani

Elliott Smith

“From a Basement on the Hill” (Anti)

Compare to: Nick Drake, Mary Lou Lord, Jeff Buckley

It’s difficult and aggravating, yet somewhat stimulating to review the final album of an introverted artist — especially when that artist didn’t get a final say or listen.

Oct. 21 marked the one-year anniversary of Elliott Smith’s death. Two days before the anniversary of his passing, Smith’s final thoughts, fears and feelings were released to his fans — not as secrets to uncover but as straightforward emotions laid flat out for all to see in the album “From a Basement on the Hill.”

Around the time of his death, which was presumed suicide, Smith had almost completed work on his sixth album but had no final arrangements. Left with a few final mixes and an uncertain track sequence, Smith’s family and friends took the unfinished project into their own hands. The tracks were compiled by his immediate family.

Because Smith didn’t get the final say, fans may be skeptical of believing that this is really what the singer would have wanted. Aside from the uncertainty, however, lies a collection of profoundly crafted songs. “From a Basement on the Hill” focuses on edgy guitars and orchestrated pop melodies of the ’60s, while still embracing Smith’s signature quivering vocals and delicate acoustics.

Smith is the master of mixing good with evil. Bright layers of soft pop, lush harmonies and gentle acoustic finger picking carry dark images of fear, drugs, regret and death. The fuzzy rock of “Coast to Coast” centers on electric riffs that pull through distraught words, while “King’s Crossing” opens with a climactic piano and slowly stretches into a heavy layering of electric guitar, drums and trembling cymbals.

For the fans who love to investigate foreshadowing, there is none on Smith’s album. Images of death burst through the waning vocals and lyrics, but only in the calmest, most sincere way. Smith’s music was deeply influenced by his feelings, but he had no secrets or underlying themes. He laid himself out completely on each and every song, leaving no questions or doubts, but instead the intricate workings of his brilliantly dejected mind.

— Katie Piepel

Social Distortion

“Sex, Love, and Rock ‘n’ Roll” (Time Bomb)

Compare to: Bad Religion, Rancid, Joan Jett

It’s been nearly a decade since the last Social Distortion studio album, “White Light, White Heat, White Trash,” and it seems the Los Angeles punk band has done a lot of self-reflection in that time.

In that eight-year gap, the band saw the death of long-time band member Dennis Danell and the release of two roots-rock solo albums by lead vocalist Mike Ness.

The new album has many of the similar traits Social Distortion is known for — Ness’ typical sneer, the three-chord simplicity and songs about hardships and life.

What’s different about the new album is a new level of maturity. In his time, Ness has seen much of the punk rock scene self-destruct and then be born again into some sort of commercial byproduct featured on MTV and whatever video game Tony Hawk is in.

This album isn’t as hard-hitting as past records like “Somewhere Between Heaven and Hell,” but it shows maturity from someone who became a father and lost a friend of 22 years. Ness realizes he’s not a young buck anymore and quietly accepts that, and, instead of taking on golf or the world of reality TV like many other aging rockers, he uses his new worldview to write about this new perspective on previous themes like love or faith.

In the track “Reach for the Sky,” Ness contemplates how late someone may be able to redeem themselves from a reckless lifestyle. “When I was young/ I was invincible/ I found myself not thinking twice,” he laments.

Ness also takes the old adage of “less is more” and applies it to his careful balance of punk and country. Less, in this case, means less of the raucous punk rock of the Clash, and more, the reflective country of Johnny Cash, especially in tracks like “Highway 101.”

Though the disc shows great amounts of maturity, it also lacks the passion old Social Distortion albums have. This seems almost like a eulogy for the old ways of Social Distortion. That perhaps is about the saddest thing about the album.

— Josh Nelson

Talib Kweli

“The Beautiful Struggle” (Rawkus)

Compare to: Mos Def, Pharoahe Monch, Common

Talib Kweli’s “The Beautiful Struggle” is just that.

It’s beautiful because Kweli’s lyrics have some of the prettiest flow you’ll ever hear, but a struggle with poor production causes this album to fall short of expectations.

In this album, Kweli re-stakes his claim as one of the best and most diverse lyricists in hip-hop today, rapping about life and love without tooting his own horn and reminding us how good he is in every verse.

Ever the social activist in his rhymes, Kweli comments on America’s post-Sept. 11 mentality in “I Try” with lines like “Got searched on the plane, Arabic first name/ Disturbed by the fame just like Kurt Cobain,” or “Although we speak in different languages/ We all pretty familiar with what anger is.”

Not every song on “Struggle” deals with controversy; Kweli also tells stories. On “Never Been in Love,” he tells of his first love.

“Broken Glass,” perhaps his strongest lyrical effort on the album, tells the story of a small-town girl, Lucy, moving to the big city to find fame. She instead has to resort to a life of stripping, prostitution and drugs to get what she wants. At the end of the track, the penniless Lucy must make a choice: spend the last of her money on cocaine or a bus ticket home to her folks — “She need a ticket home if it’s the right course/ Instead she bought a ticket to ride the white horse.”

This is not a club anthem, but apparently Kweli thought differently, bringing in the Neptunes to produce the track.

Production holes are evident throughout the album, with boring, repetitive beats in songs like “A Game,” “Back Up Offa Me,” and “Work It Out.” “I Try,” though a great track, is nothing more than a variation of Kweli’s hit single “Get By” from his debut album “Quality.”

Maybe it’s laziness on Kweli’s part or over-production from delaying the album’s release nearly four months, but one thing’s for sure — even fantastic lyrics can’t keep “The Beautiful Struggle” from struggling to be beautiful.

— Josh Madden