Daily Staff Writer

‘Smile’

The Jayhawks

The Jayhawks have gone through a lot in their 15 years together. Most notably, co-leader Mark Olson departed from the group in 1995, leaving behind songwriter Gary Louris.

Since then it has been clear that Louris was the country influence in the band that essentially invented the alt/country genre. On 1997’s “Sound of Lies” the band had a more pop sound, and “Smile” moves even farther in that tradition.

“Smile,” which has nothing to do with Brian Wilson and the Beach Boys’ little known follow up to “Pet Sounds,” marks The Jayhawks’ fifth album, and their Columbia Records debut.

The title track kicks off the album, a full-bodied power ballad. The verse creates extreme tension which is released in a huge chorus, featuring vocal harmonies reminiscent of “Tomorrow the Green Grass’ Blue.”

“I’m Gonna Make You Love Me,” the album’s first single, is a pop anthem that screams “Play me on the radio! A lot!” Somewhere in the pristine pop of the song, the edge of the band is lost.

“Somewhere in Ohio” is an ambient rocker with electronic elements. No kidding. The sound is rather surprising, but the song isn’t half bad.

Surprising, but “not half bad” would be a good way to categorize much of “Smile.” There are still a few alt/country gems, for instance “A Break in the Clouds” and the top-notch “Better Days.” Most of the songs, however, feature arrangements that are new to The Jayhawks.

Much of this can probably be attributed to producer Bob Ezrin, who has worked with Pink Floyd, Lou Reed and Kiss.

The last song, “Baby, Baby, Baby,” is what their Web site calls “The Jayhawks’ ‘Stairway to Heaven.'” The song certainly isn’t as over-the-top as the Zeppelin classic, but thick electric guitars and razor-sharp solos pierce the mini-epic.

“Smile” goes from jangle-pop to full-blown guitar rock, and touches a few country bases just for good measure. The album will probably be a surprise to most longtime fans. While it may be unconventional, it ain’t half bad.

3 1/2 Stars

—Ben Godar

‘Figure 8’

Elliott Smith

This just in: Elliott Smith is still sad. On “Figure 8,” Smith has returned to what he does best, making emotionally rich music with sweet melodies.

Smith was thrust into mainstream America when his music filled Gus Van Sant’s “Good Will Hunting,” and “Miss Misery” was nominated for best original song. Fans weaned on the gentle ballads from “Good Will Hunting” but bristled at Smith’s next studio album, the rock edged “XO.”

“Figure 8” features plenty of Smith’s soulful material, with enough rock instrumentation to keep it from droning.

The album kicks off with “Son of Sam,” a catchy pop rocker. The lyrics about the famous New York serial killer provide an interesting juxtaposition with Smith’s choirboy clean vocals.

On “Somebody That I Used to Know,” Smith does what he does best — painting a heart-wrenching picture of jaded love. The acoustic guitar has Smith’s familiar, deep, dull thud sound, which he sometimes achieves by filling the body partially with dirt.

By the 5th track of the album, Smith becomes almost ridiculously melancholy with “Everything Means Nothing to Me.” The tune features similar harmonies to The Beatles’ “Because,” which Smith covered for the “American Beauty” soundtrack.

The worst song on the album is probably “LA,” a tired lament on the phony nature of the city of angels. Is Randy Newman the only musician who loves L.A.?

Smith’s obsession with Hollywood continues on “Happiness,” the album’s first single. A crisp pop melody meets low-fi production, as Smith ponders the dangers of actors living a lie, before deciding “All I want is happiness for you and me.”

The last gem on the album is “I Better Be Quiet Now,” a tale of a man trying to get over a heartbreak, and finding himself unable to say the right things.

Few artists tap into feelings of loneliness as fully as Elliott Smith, and it doesn’t appear the well will be drying up anytime soon. “Figure 8” suggests that Smith’s best may be yet to come.

4 Stars

—Ben Godar

‘Comatised’

Leona Naess

New artist Leona Naess has the looks of a runway model, but she writes and sings like an everyday college student.

On her debut album, “Comatised,” Naess sings songs full of simple lyrics, and the impression is she’s just going with the flow, making them up as she goes along.

It wouldn’t take a rocket scientist, or even an accomplished songwriter, to come up with lyrics like the ones on the opening track, “Lazy Days.” Naess sings, “Why can’t you be with me/ Watching American TV/ We’ll order-in Chinese/ And ask the world to stay away please.” Wow. She’s a poet and she doesn’t even know it.

An even bigger surprise than the achingly simple lyrics is the fact that they’re somewhat endearing. Naess is definitely a unique artist, even if she’s taking the easy road. “Charm Attack” is nothing more than one long run-on sentence, but again, it somehow works for Naess.

One thing not to be found on “Comatised” is the voice of a songbird with a Mariah Carey-esque range. Naess doesn’t have a particularly good voice; in fact, she lazily talks her way through most of the album.

The singer becomes even more mysterious when she throws in a few surprises. In “Chase,” about a love she desires but knows is bad for her, Naess goes friggin’ psychotic right before our ears, shrieking and screaming like a mental patient that forgot to take her pills.

But on the next track, the same mellow Naess is back and singing about alcohol and weed again. Much of the album is peppered with references to two of college students’ favorite vices. In “All I Want,” Naess may as well be singing the mantra of every bar goer on the morning after when she sings, “Maybe it was the drinking/ That had me thinking/ Baby I was in love with you.”

Another surprise twist is the radio-friendly “Anything,” an upbeat ditty that is also the best on the album. It’s a song stuck in the mix just for the hell of it, like Naess got tired of her own slowness and decided to pick it up a bit.

On the other hand, Naess’ voice is dripping with regret in the melancholy title track.

This album isn’t genius by any standard, but it’s something different than the endless rotation of one song again and again that can be heard on the radio these days. Naess’ music is simple, but unique. Bottom line, different really is good.

3 Stars

—Kelsey Foutch

‘Mer De Noms’

A Perfect Circle

Tool fans will rejoice the long awaited return of lead singer Maynard James Keenan in the form of A Perfect Circle.

Much more spiritual and emotional than Tool albums, “Mer De Noms” ventures into more ambient, fairy-tale landscapes. Ironically, A Perfect Circle notably use more tools than Keenan’s other band, including violins and far more guitar and rhythm techniques.

Billy Howerdel conjures orchestral-type compositions that fuse vibrant colors of music to dead-on emotional accuracy. “Orestes” is a perfect example of the kaleidoscope of sounds. A contemporary guitar molds a front-porch-style progression that becomes a turbulent tornado faster than the one in the Wizard of Oz. The music carries your heart with words like “Gotta cut away/ Slip away and sever this umbilical residue.”

Keenan, who is always a master of the descriptive language, shines with “Sleeping Beauty” as he wearily admits “Truly thought I could make it right/ If I kissed you one more time/ To help you face the nightmare/ But you’re far too poisoned for me.”

According to the French album title, this “sea of names” takes many adventurous paths into the deep dark world of relationships. On the album’s rowdiest song, “Judith,” Keenan screams “It’s not like you killed someone/ It’s not like you drove a hateful spear into his side” while the brash guitar tears your flesh like the Big Bad Wolf.

The Tool-esque “Thinking of You” carries an evil, bass-heavy beat into mindless chants.

A Perfect Circle paints a splendid portrait ranging from beautiful moonlight to blazing desert sun. The album is very tame overall, generally more Disney than Clive Barker. However, “Mer De Noms” is an exciting ride, nonetheless.

4 Stars

—Ryan Rogness

Ratings based on a 5 Star scale