Alanis Morissette

“So-Called Chaos” (Maverick)

Compare to: Liz Phair, Ani DiFranco, Jewell

Does anyone know what Alanis Morissette is talking about these days? Since the debut of her “I’ve-been-hurt-but-I’m-too-deep-to-talk-about-it-in-recognizable-terms” style of writing shown in the song “Uninvited,” even Freud couldn’t decide what Alanis was really getting at in her songs.

Her newest album, “So-Called Chaos”, should be loaded into a makeshift cannon and fired deep into the heart of the sun, if for no other reason than the track “Knees of my Bees.” Seriously, it’s really on there.

Apparently, some guy, possibly the guy who played Joey on “Full House,” can “make the knees of my bees weak.” Either the large-mouthed Canadian has lyrically completely gone nuts, or Alanis Morissette actually tours with a large group of bees. It is a song identifiable only to those among us who own beekeeping equipment.

The begging-to-be-a-single track on this album, “Eight Easy Steps”, is annoyingly catchy in its chorus, so much so that you will need a frontal lobotomy to get it out of your head. When Clear Channel does pick up on it, expect to see a full meltdown of society, with packs of mangy, drooling people wandering the streets mumbling the words of the song as was foretold by John the Revelator in the section of the Bible relating to Canadians.

A comprehensive review of the album should also talk about the musical evolution of Morissette tunes, except there really isn’t any. In comparison to the angry acoustic guitar rock of her earlier efforts, “So-Called Chaos” is poppy and lame. It’s like a frog, after a long period of metamorphosis, becoming a frog that is capable of growing a small, unfashionable goatee. There’s really no breakthrough to speak of, and it won’t be popular at parties.

In all fairness, “So-Called Chaos” is not the worst album ever made, a title which still remains safe for Limp Bizkit. But like your grandmother describing her sex life — it’s not really something you’d want to listen to.

— Luke Jennett

Jedi Mind Tricks

“Outerspace” (Babygrande)

Compare to: Cannibal Ox, Army of Darkness, Wu-Tang Clan

After seven years of extensive research on ways to kill people, hip-hop’s harbingers of death, Jedi Mind Tricks, ought to have Ph.D.s in homicide by now.

Vinnie Paz and Stoupe the Enemy of Mankind have combined intelligent, yet vile lyrical imagery with steadily evolving production since “The Psycho-Social, Chemical, Biological, and Electro-Magnetic Manipulation of Human [CD]” in 1997. With such album titles, it has always been clear that Jedi Mind Tricks is aiming for a deeper level of thought than one will ever hear on corporately owned radio stations or MTV.

Its ability to mimic Kool Keith’s creativity while keeping the metaphors grounded have helped make it a deadly force in the hip-hop underground.

Chinese water torture and yanking organs out of every orifice have been some of the recurring themes for the Jedi Masters. Despite such technical and sometimes futuristic lyricism, the group finds itself more at home in ’96 style hip-hop, rather than riding the waves of pop or underground trends.

Although groups like Jurassic 5 and Ugly Duckling have proved mid-’90s style can succeed with fresh twists in the new millennium, Jedi Mind Tricks dates itself a little too much this time around with references to Mark McGwire smashing things. Vinnie’s vernacular has been recycled one too many times as well, despite a few spots that show maturity.

The album certainly isn’t a step backward, and its content is still worlds better than what the average mainstream listener has been exposed to, but it’s no step forward. Jedi Mind Tricks is hardcore enough for gangsta rap fans, and “Outerspace” contains the articulate animosity battle rap fans will appreciate, but it fails to push the boundaries.

Jedi Mind Tricks has slayed people on Earth for so long now, it’s understandable that the psycho-rappers would want to explore new territory. It’s just a shame its sound doesn’t travel so well in “Outerspace.”

— Andrew Mabe

New Found Glory

“Catalyst” (Drive-Thru)

Compare to: Fenix TX, The Starting Line, Allister

In a lot of ways, emo-inspired pop bands like New Found Glory are the musical equivalent of a McDonald’s Happy Meal — no nutritional value, and capable of creating an entire generation of chubby teenagers in skin-tight T-shirts.

But after a few albums, even the most sugary of groups seems to reach some sort of stylistic maturity. Within the last year, sophomoric acts like Blink 182, Brand New and even the eternally poppy Fountains of Wayne have penned at least a handful of songs with substance. Call it a musical mid-life crisis, call it a desire to be taken seriously, but most importantly, call it an improvement.

If the members of New Found Glory operated on the same evolutionary timeline as their cohorts, their latest release should’ve been one of those albums. Unfortunately, this Florida-borne quintet never got the memo.

“Catalyst” is the same overproduced, tears-in-the-eyes romanticism that made the band the soundtrack to thousands of high schoolers’ breakups.

Take, for example, the album’s first single, “All Downhill From Here.” As if the song’s top-five placing on MTV’s TRL isn’t enough to write the song off as pandering to the tasteless masses, the lyrics don’t grant it any additional respect: “You’re hiding something cause it’s burning through your eyes/ I try to get it out, but all I hear from you are lies.” What’s really tragic is that these are some of the deepest lyrics to escape singer Jordan Pundik’s vocoder-enhanced throat on the entire album.

That’s not to say NFG has suddenly forgotten how to write an appealing pop-punk song laced with oodles of teenage heartache. Although not quite as memorable as the ultra-slick 2002 release “Sticks & Stones” or as heartfelt as 1999’s “Nothing Gold Can Stay,” most of the tracks on “Catalyst” still have a pop sensibility that will keep this disc spinning in kids’ CD players all the way to Warped Tour.

New Found Glory is very good at what it does, even if what it does isn’t very good.

— Aaron Ladage

Gomez

“Split the Difference” (Virgin Records)

Compare to: Radiohead, moe., Beck

Gomez is a band stuck in popular purgatory, hovering somewhere between the underground and the mainstream. This five-piece British group has garnered considerable success in its homeland, receiving the 1998 Mercury Music Prize for most innovative album, with the video for its new song, “Silence,” soon making an appearance on MTV2.

Nonetheless, the gatekeepers of popular culture have somehow managed to keep this enigmatic band out, probably because they don’t understand them. If one album were to change all that, “Split the Difference” is the one.

Not that it’s easy to understand Gomez, or even its new album. But you don’t have to understand it to dig it — you’ll hear something you like in every song. The music is pop, then emo, then folk, then grunge, then all at the same time and then something you’ve never heard before.

The band’s many diverse influences, from Nirvana to Tom Waits, shine through on “Split the Difference,” but Gomez never sounds like it’s copying something that’s been done before. Instead, the band members take the music they love and work it flawlessly into their own distinct sound.

The vocals on “Me, You and Everybody” and “Do One” scream Eddie Vedder, and “Where Ya Going?” sounds even more like Pearl Jam. There’s also kind of a background Beatles influence throughout the album, but it’s most prevalent on “Extra Special Guy.” “These 3 Sins” is a bouncy, clean, jam-rock song, an interesting departure from most of the distortion-soaked songs on the album.

Strange electronic sounds accent almost every song, “Meet Me in the City” being a good example, and Gomez takes its experimentation further with a string section on “Sweet Virginia” and twangy slide guitar on “Catch Me Up.”

You can’t hate powerful, big grooves with catchy pop melodies, and that’s exactly what Gomez delivers. “Split the Difference” is truly a unique, experimental album that still sounds solid after many listens.

— Aaron Butzen