CD Reviews

Sasha

Invol2ver (Global Underground)

Mix albums don't sell the way they did in around the turn of the millennium. And though part of the blame lies with Internet piracy, the more heinous culprit is the their general homogeneity. That's not a problem with Sasha's mixes. Even four years after the emergence of Involver, the first compilation to be produced and programmed using the live-remixing Abelton software, the U.K. electronic music whiz's mixes distinguish themselves from those of his contemporaries. And the second Involver is just as memorable, even more so than Sasha's more recent Fundacion sets.

The pitch for Invol2ver is how Sasha and his fellow collaborators used extracurricular noise mechanisms to grit up the otherwise smooth mix. Without easy access to the many of the songs' original versions, it's uncertain to what extent these new re-rubs were dirtied and scuffed. With a more popular song -- like Ladytron's "Destroy Everything You Touch" -- you can actually hear the field day Sasha and company had in the studio, turning that electro-rocker into a hallucinogenic, basement-party anthem. And then there's Thom Yorke's "The Eraser," sounding not rougher but slicker -- a trance revision you'd expect from someone like Paul Oakenfold. (The six-song bonus disc has a minimal breaks version of the same track.) No matter; it fits perfectly during the melody-rich last half, which rightly ends with the dawn-beckoning jam "Sometimes I Realise," by Engineers.

Besides remixing each tune, Sasha churned out three new originals. The most notable is the sublime "3 Little Piggys," its only sticking point being how the cascading synth chorus sounds a lot like that from The Chemical Brothers' "Star Guitar." That said, you can't say Invol2ver isn't a diversified exercise in reinterpretation.

MIKE PREVATT

Portugal. The Man

Censored Colors (Equal Vision)

Alaska has few constants. Everything is in flux, changing with the seasons, if not always changing with the times. It rubs off on everyone -- even John Gourley. The frontman and mastermind of the oddly punctuated Portugal. The Man, Gourley doesn't stick with much, even when it's working for him. That can be a problem, like on the band's debut Waiter: "You Vultures!" which was like an identity crisis caught on tape. Or it can be a boon, the band switching quickly to the Zeppelin-influenced power of last year's Church Mouth.

With Censored Colors, Portugal has morphed again. There's still an essence of power. And Gourley's stratospheric falsetto is, as always, ever-present. But Portugal is more interested in finding the quiet moments between its own distorted storms. So you get sweeping, string-kissed tracks like "Out and In and In and Out," a stadium-ready ballad full of equal parts acoustic strums and screaming guitar solos. Or "Salt," a bit of avant-soul that sounds like Maroon 5 after getting throttled by Mars Volta. Even "And I" and "Hard Times," two downtempo stoner bombs, feel hushed compared to the volume Portugal pushed on Church Mouth. And while some might be disappointed in that, others will be captivated, Portugal always finding a different path to musical power -- because even that is in flux.

JEFF INMAN

Joe Lovano

Symphonica (Blue Note)

There is a long-standing tradition in jazz that -- at some point -- iconic artists are expected to collaborate with an orchestra. It's a dubious ritual that dates backs to a more ignorant time when orchestras were intended to buy jazz performers respectability. More often than not, these ventures ended up being kitschy or even cringe-inducing.

But, on occasion, the musician, the arranger and the arrangements were all in such synchronicity that the final results were breathtaking. That is a less-frequent tradition, but it's one that is alive and well on Joe Lovano's latest, Symphonica.

Recorded live in Germany with the WDR Radio Big Band under the guidance of arranger Michael Abene, Symphonica captures saxophonist Lovano, who is a New York institution, at his best. The disc marks Lovano's orchestra project made up entirely of his own compositions (except for one stunning rendition of a Charles Mingus-penned Duke Ellington tribute, which allows Lovano to slyly tip his hat to two of his heroes at once).

The compositions cover Lovano's lengthy history, so the CD doubles as a Lovano career-retrospective -- a move we expect from musicians on their way out. But the energy he displays on Symphonica makes it clear Lovano is a long way from being done.

JEFF HINKLE

Apollo Sunshine

Shall Noise Upon (Headless Heroes)

Apollo Sunshine is ridiculously good, yet hasn't attained the notoriety deserved -- and it's scary, because with the release of its third full-length album, it may never happen. No, the three former Berklee College of Music students haven't dropped a musical turd -- far from it -- but they did something nearly as detrimental to their career: They released their most commercial material before most people knew who they were, and are already slowing down and venturing into experimental land. With Shall Noise Upon, the band, whose previous albums rivaled The Beatles' jangly quirkiness and Hendrix's shredability, is coming down from its high. Aside from the upbeat "Brotherhood of Death" -- which sounds too much like Bob Dylan's "Tombstone Blues" -- none of the songs herein really rock, per se, which is a pretty remarkable transition, especially for anyone who has had their face ripped of by an AS live set. Instead, virtuosity is challenged with a mellow, heavily-layered, cinematic approach, experimental in both instrument choice (harpsichord, chains falling to the floor) as well as genre (bossa nova, country). But for a band whose previous albums were full of so much unique personality, this low-key, often instrumental shift, though respectable, makes a previous fan want to slap them and shout "Apollo Sunshine, wake the fuck up!!!"

JACK JOHNSON

Toxic Holocaust

An Overdose of Death ... (Relapse)

Should the creators of The Road Warrior finally begin filming the long-awaited Mad Max 4: Fury Road, they'd better call Joel Grind for soundtrack tunes. After nine years of toiling in the underground, Grind's post-apocalyptic thrash-punk obsession Toxic Holocaust now irradiates mainstream metal with An Overdose of Death ..., 13 tracks of old-school thrash mixed with L.A. punk attitude and gothic black-metal Armageddon. Like Stiv Bators reading from a charred Book of Revelations, Grind chronicles a seemingly infinite wasteland overrun with radioactive animals ("Wild Dogs"), mutant bikers ("City of a Million Graves") and crazy subterranean A-bomb cults ("Nuke the Cross"). It's meant to be fun, sure, but Toxic Holocaust is so relentlessly, well, toxic that only those with a penchant for dark, aggressive music will find escapism here.

Grind performs all guitar and bass duties in addition to his trademark barking vocals, with the assistance of Zeke drummer Donny Paycheck and producer Jack Endino (Nirvana). There are no cheesy flourishes like air-raid sirens or nuclear detonations -- just one hell-for-leather anthem after another. "The Lord of the Wasteland" envisions evil warlords stalking survivors, while "In the Name of Science" presents desperate human experimentation in a bid to cure radiation sickness. And when Grind delivers a riff as devastating as the one that propels "Gravelord," you'll want to don a black leather jacket -- and a gas mask.

JARRET KEENE